


Marx and Magolor's Adventure of Dubious Quality: Wizard101

by Nabeerie



Category: Hoshi no Kaabii | Kirby: Right Back at Ya!, Kirby (Video Games), Kirby - All Media Types
Genre: Bullying, Cults, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Magic School, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Other, Parasitism, Slow Burn, Spirits, cult-like situations, friends to lovers? to enemies to lovers, graphic depictions of capitalism, great googly moogly its all gone to shit, light terrorism, mandatory school assemblies (aka shoehorned exposition), morality shifts, nightmare is a creep and a capitalist pig, non-graphic depictions of dissection, pretty much an au because im just doing whatever i want
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2020-05-07 20:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabeerie/pseuds/Nabeerie
Summary: Marx is an obnoxious teacher's pet at Paraffanta's Academy. Magolor is the unfortunate foreign exchange student who has to share a room with him. What happens next will shock you! (What happens next is a pair of emotionally-stunted mages going on space adventures (not necessarily together), joining a capitalist cult of personality, attempted thievery of powerful artifacts, probable war crimes, and aiding in the manipulation of society by a malevolent space wizard). was originally inspired by my friend's rewrite of dreamland chronicles before i went ham





	1. He Needs Some Milk

**Author's Note:**

> i apologize in advance for how pretentiously this reads

It started with a note. An unfamiliar faculty member entered the classroom and headed straight for Marx after confirming with the professor. She slid a yellow slip of parchment onto his desk and slid away just as quietly. Paying no mind to her, he pawed the slip towards himself and read.

SUMMONS FOR:MARX,3rd year  
To: Office of the Housemistress Senior  
Time:After Dinner, as promptly as possible

“Well, that's strange.” Marx was used to being summoned to various places by the faculty. If it wasn't to reprimand him for agitating yet another classmate to the point of violence,it was a professor requesting his assistance in setting up a lesson after classes had concluded. Though he hated his classmates, he was fond of his professors, often going out of his way to assist them or to ask extra questions about their area of expertise. His zeal for knowledge and willingness to help made him a faculty favorite, and it was their positive relationships with him that prevented his expulsion despite his frequent fights. This happened to be a note from the housemistress, a woman he had only spoken to once during his enrollment to ensure he'd sleep alone. He hadn't gotten into any fights recently and she didn't teach any of his classes.  


The only way to find out what she wanted from him was to go. He slid the note into the pocket of his uniform cloak and continued working.  


Once the day had passed and dinner had concluded, he plodded up the stairs to the housemistress's office to discover what she wanted with him. It had been a long day. All he wanted to do was take a nap before settling into his work again, but he couldn't refuse to show up and his curiosity had been plaguing him throughout the day. He knocked quietly on the door.  


“Enter.” He made sure to close the door quietly behind him before settling neatly into the comfy chair she had placed in front of her desk. Prim and aged, with her hair pinned up into a style that had gone out of fashion on her home planet at least a few decades ago, the housemistress’ appearance screamed proper and strict.  


“Hello Marx. I know you’re not particularly fond of little social niceties, so let’s get right into it. It’s about your living situation.”  


“What about it?”  


“I know you specifically requested to have a dorm to yourself, and due to your...social situation, we’ve allowed it. However we’re currently at capacity due to a sudden rise in aspiring mages, so as of tomorrow that’s going to be changing. We have an exchange student coming in from Halcandra tomorrow, and you’re the only student without a roommate.”  


“No.”  


“Yes.”  


“I’m not taking on a roommate. Especially not some random person I don’t even know!”  


“You have no choice in the matter.” The housemistress gave Marx a tight-lipped smile that allowed no room for argument. “Go make space for their things. Dismissed.”  


Marx scooted out of his seat roughly and left the office. The grumbling began the second he left the area. By the time he had reached his dorm hallway, it had devolved into full on swearing. He had the perfect setup here! No one bothered him in his room and he could do whatever he wanted without anyone watching. Now they expected him to deal with someone snoring next to him and making a mess in his room. Knowing his luck, the loser would probably even try to make friends with him.  


Magolor arrived late the next night to a clean and orderly dorm room, exactly half of it marked out for his use with masking tape that extended all the way up the wall and onto the ceiling. Marx was sitting up for him, lights on. Magolor looked up to see his new roommate. A small, lavender-colored puff of fur practically glaring daggers into his skull.  


“Um, hello there! I'm Ma--”  


“Your half is over there. You sleep on the bottom bunk. Don't make any noises.” With that, he rolled over and pulled the blanket over himself.  


Marx proved to be a difficult roommate. Every sound Magolor made would immediately be met with glares and sharp insults, whether the scratch of a pen on parchment or the turn of a page. Once a simple sneeze resulted in an agonized scream. When not berating Magolor, Marx remained silent. He went about his business without so much as a word or a glance at Magolor.  


Unfortunately for Magolor, their room wasn’t the only place he’d have to see Marx. They shared a few classes, Alchemistry being the most difficult. Outside of his room, Marx seemed to be a completely different person. His hand was the first to shoot up in class and his answers were loud and detailed. He finished his work before anyone else, then took out even more. His enthusiasm drew attention from every student around him. They snickered to each other loudly enough that Marx would be able to hear (Magolor certainly could) but he gave no indication that he heard them at all. He read his books and took notes without even turning his head. One student, a Bronto Burt whose wings made enormous lumps in the back of his cape, turned to Magolor.  


“Do you think he ever learned to shut up? Dude’s always up his own ass about how smart he is.”  
Magolor's brow furrowed. “But he's not saying anything. He's just doing work again. And he does know the answers when the professor asks for them, so shouldn't he tell her?” Sure, Marx was insufferable in their room, but outside of it he didn’t cause any harm. Magolor couldn’t figure out why this guy got so upset about someone studying.  


The Bronto made a face that hovered between confusion and disgust. “What? No, he just...never mind. You're apparently too stupid to get it.”  


“I'm not stupid.” Magolor tried to respond, but they had already turned away from him, apparently uninterested in anything else he had to say. He sighed to himself and turned back to the professor, who stood at the front of the class. She clasped her hands in front of her, beaming enthusiastically. This woman enjoyed her job very much.  


“All right, for this next part you're going to need to find a partner and an open desk. We're going to attempt to create the substance we went over earlier. It's all right if you don't get it the first time! This is only a practice run. You'll have the chance to perfect it later. If you lack protective gloves, there are some in the cabinet in the back of the room. Now quick! Go find your partners and take a seat.”  
Most of the students had already locked eyes with one another, and at the professor's signal rose from their seats and headed directly for one another. Magolor remained firmly in place, anxiety rising. He had been here a week and still didn't know the names of his classmates, let alone how to befriend them. None of them had displayed any interest in him after the first two days, when he had been a novelty to be asked endless questions.  


The seat next to him was empty, the Bronto having already joined their friend across the room. Every person had a partner. He was all alone, and the professor would ask why. Then she’d put him in a group of three, and he’d be the awkward extra partner that nobody actually wants there. Then he’d be known as the person who can’t get a partner on his own, and he’d have to deal with that forever! His head turned from side to side uselessly, mind probing in random directions as he tried to figure out the correct course of action for his unfortunate social situation. There had to be some way he could--wait.  


The seat next to Marx was open.  


As far as he knew, Marx hated his guts. He became upset with Magolor for the smallest reasons and he could never figure out why. It would be risky, and possibly one of the more socially painful experiences he’d have to deal with today. But it would be the only chance he got to avoid the humiliation of being alone. After a few moments spent steeling himself for the move, Magolor lifted his things and carried them to Marx’s table.  


“Can I partner with you?” His voice came out much quieter than he intended, but Marx heard it anyways. He turned to Magolor, already irritated. “No. Leave.”  


“But we both need a partner. I don’t see anyone else offering, and we’re the only two people left.” Magolor moved closer, insisting. Marx turned away in his chair.  


“I’ll do it on my own!”  


“Tried that before. They just stuff you into a group of three. This class is even numbered, so we don’t even get an excuse to try this time.”  


Marx hissed under his breath in exasperation. “Fuck.”  


“Well? Scoot over!” This time it came out louder than he wanted. A pair of students at a nearby table looked over at him, startled. Whoops.  


Surprised and a bit confused, Marx reluctantly slid over on the bench. Magolor took a seat, setting his books down near the corner of the right side of the desk. He was careful to maintain a good distance, giving Marx half of the bench to himself.  


“Just don’t fuck up the ingredient order. Damn thing takes ten minutes to hit the right water temperature, and I am not starting over.”  
Magolor turned to him with a look of surprise. “Have you done this before?”  


“Of course I have! I study a couple of chapters ahead. A little head start at the beginning, and no one else can catch up!” Marx puffed himself up proudly as he boasted about his abilities.  


“Can you show me how to do it?”  


“Pfft. Sure. If you're too dumb to figure it out yourself, I guess I can throw you a bone. Watch closely. I'll only do it once.”  


“I'm not dumb.” Magolor's tone went flat. He had said so many times before, but it seemed that no one would listen to him.  


“Then prove it by paying attention when someone's giving you free information.”  
Marx set a beaker of water onto a metal grate. It sat over a blue flame burning airlessly in a small, spherical contraption. He spent a moment tweaking a small knob on the side, then turned to pull a mortar and pestle from a drawer.  


“First you set the water to a gentle simmer,then you take the amfrus powder in a separate bowl, and sift it…”  


Twenty minutes later, the concoction in the beaker had become a cool blue, swirling in the beaker of its own accord. It seemed to have the consistency of honey, and emitted a scent somewhere between gasoline and fresh morning air.  


The professor walked from table to table, examining the work of her students. Multiple beakers were filled with black sludge. Two had reached a purplish color that earned the students responsible a small smile. When she came to Marx's table, she stopped, eyebrows raised.  


“You two did this?”  


Marx grinned up at her. “There's no one else here!”  


She carefully lifted the beaker, swirling the contents around and holding it up to a light. “Proper color, correct viscosity, no precipitate...this is completely correct! You two did a wonderful job! Do you mind if I bring this to the front to show the class?” Magolor remained silent, face warm.  


“Go right ahead!” Marx beamed up at her. She strode up to the front and called attention to the beaker. “Now class, this is what your potion should look like, and will eventually. Notice…”  


As she droned on, Marx nudged Magolor's side. “Feel that, Magolor?”, he muttered. “That bloom of satisfaction?" Magolor nodded, eyes still on the teacher. "That's success. We outdid every single one of those idiots. Of course, it was mostly me, but you did a sufficient job on the orgofax root. Feels nice though, doesn't it?”  


“It does.” A warm, bursting feeling swelled in his chest that made Magolor almost want to stand up and crow about his achievement. “Everyone seems kind of mad at us, though. Isn't that going to cause problems?”  


“Eh. You get used to it. That's the price of being better!” Marx began to snicker, pointing out some of the more horrendous failed attempts. Eventually Magolor found himself laughing as well. He decided that he liked this sort of gossiping a lot more.

When he arrived at their dorm and settled in to do his homework Marx didn't snap at him even once.

 

The end of the school day had arrived at last. The sun was setting over the trees in the distance, filling the empty hallway with a golden glow. Magolor had spent an extra half hour in his last period asking the professor a few questions alongside Marx. Their two weeks of lab partnerships had left Marx with a habit of explaining everything he did to Magolor, even when they were in their dorm. Evidently he enjoyed having an audience for his work.  


A lovely side effect to Magolor's new rubber duck status was that he had almost gotten as far ahead of the other students as Marx. He took to his new studies like a rubber duck to water. The puff made sure to study at least a unit ahead in private before telling Magolor all about the previous one.  


His lab partner was currently nowhere to be found. They had parted ways at the door, Magolor moving in the direction of his locker to drop off unneeded books. Marx went in another direction to “take care of something.” Magolor pried his locker open and began to tuck his extra books into the bottom. The workload would be light tonight, only numeric systems and a few pages of history reading that he had already heard about from his roommate's lectures. He slammed it shut, then tapped the front, sealing it to everyone but him. One perk of attending Paraffanta's Academy was that you never had to remember a locker combination.  


“Magolor! Magolor! Hey! Quick, hold this!” A familiar voice called his name. Magolor turned around just in time to watch Marx barrel down the hall. He ran directly towards Magolor before thrusting a small, slimy object into his paws and disappearing behind a corner. It turned out to be a small, yellowish, extremely docile frog. “Hello there!” The frog stared up at Magolor's grin blankly, throat ballooning. A shadow fell over the pair, and Magolor looked up to see a rather large student leaning over Magolor angrily. The beefy simirror glared at him.  


“Give me the frog, freak.”  


“Why?” For someone who needed something from him, this guy was being incredibly rude. He had never been called a freak by anyone polite.  


“For the damn game! Hand it up!”  


“A frog game? It doesn't hurt the frog, does it?” He held the tiny creature closer to himself, shielding it from the simirror.  


“Listen, fr--” The boy's words were cut off by his own shout of surprise as he flipped upside down and rose into the air. Marx revealed himself from behind the corner, wheezing between the gusts of howling laughter bursting out of him. “I love fishing wire so much! Look at his stupid face! That's what you get for pouring milk on me, asshole!”  


Magolor looked out at the now slowly spinning figure swearing angrily at both of them. His hair was disheveled and his pants were sliding downwards. His shirt had ripped at the hem where the wire had pulled it away from him. Something about him was so ridiculous that Magolor began to giggle. He really did look stupid, didn’t he? Just spinning in the air like that. “Bet you feel bad about calling me that now, huh?”  


“What'd he say?” Marx laughed a bit less, looking puzzled.  


“He called me a freak.”  


Marx stopped laughing, scowling briefly before he pulled his face back into a characteristic smirk. “Well, what are you waiting for? Give him a whack! He deserves it.”  


Magolor took a step forward, slowly raising a glove in front of the prone bully. Then he took a step back. “I'll be right back. Don't put him down yet.” With that, he rushed away down the hall.  


The cafeteria was only a short walk from his locker. After a careful peek through the kitchen window, he slipped inside. It took only a second to find what he needed. The frog went safely outside a door on the way back.  


Magolor returned to the scene with a carton of milk. Marx's face split into a joyous grin. “Oh, that's brilliant!” Magolor flushed slightly and stepped up to the bully, opening the lip of the carton.  


“Don't you dare.” The bully began to wriggle desperately, having spent the last few minutes trying to break the line with his still bound hands.  


“I do!” Magolor beamed up at him. “Be more polite when you want something from someone next time, okay? Don't call them rude things.”  


The first of the milk went on the bully's face. The rest of it went evenly across his back and the rest of his body. Marx has howling with laughter, feet in the air. In a fit of boldness, Magolor crushed the empty carton against the boy's face. He was breathless with laughter and exhilaration.  


“What are you *doing*?” The laughter stopped with a hot pang of fear. Their history professor stood in the hall, eyes wide with disbelief.  


“Headmaster's office. Now.”  


The headmaster's office looked like a neat box of mahogany and leather. Three chairs sat in front of the desk, most likely meant for a student and their parents. Marx and Magolor sat next to each other, the third seat occupied by their history teacher.  


The headmaster, an old, gently grizzled mage, seemed much more serious than he usually did. “So, Marx, I've been told you've gotten into another altercation involving other students, and you dragged this one along with you.”  


“I wasn't dragged in. I joined in.” Magolor quivered where he sat, but did his best to hide it. He couldn't even look at the headmaster, his eyes sliding around the desk and Marx's face instead. Marx had managed to stay completely calm. He had been in this position many times before.  


“And why is that?”  


“He poured milk on Marx. And he was going to hurt a frog, I think.”  


Marx interrupted. “And he called Magolor a freak.”  


“He deserved what he got. It's only fair.”  


The headmaster's brow furrowed. “Is that so? He'll be disciplined for that. After all, it's our job to discipline students, not yours.”  


Marx cut in. “He did the milk thing before to other students and got away with it. You can ask around.”  


“I apologize for the lapse in discipline, but neither of you are qualified to dispense punishments for your classmates. That’s a faculty job, isn't it Dr.Naramo?” Their professor nodded, and the headmaster continued.  


“While I understand that he bullied you, due to your retaliatory behavior I'm still going to have to punish you. However, I do understand that there were complex circumstances at play here. Magolor, this is your first offense and you both are otherwise outstanding students. In my personal opinion, your behavior was not entirely unjustified, simply misguided. You will both clean up the milk and string you left down there immediately, then attend an hour's detention during your free hour on Marasday. If something like this happens again, report it to me or my assistants. I will not have anyone making my students feel unwelcome in their home. Run along now and ask the custodian for a mop and scissors.”  


Once the pair had left the headmaster turned to Dr.Naramo. “Nice to see him finally make a friend here, isn't it?”  


"Let's hope it lasts."

Detention came and went easily. Magolor and Marx spent the time working silently on problems that wouldn't be due for a month and passing notes to each other when they believed that the supervising teacher wasn't looking. In truth, Dr.Naramo simply didn't wish to disturb the birth of a good thing.  


The tension in their dorm room had completely dissipated. The tape had peeled away without a replacement. Magolor could scratch away at his homework to his heart's content without even a peep from Marx. He knew to be quiet when his roommate needed to sleep or focus. Marx returned the favor by remembering the things Magolor would otherwise forget, be it where he placed a certain item or an assignment he had neglected to write down. Unfortunately for Magolor, the item he had lost this time fell under his bed while he was using it.  


“Oh come on, where’d you go this time…” Magolor shimmied under the bunk bed, pawing around the books he had stowed beneath his bunk.  


A purple head peered over the side of the top bunk. “Whad’ya lose this time?”  


“My pen. Again. I swear, these things are the most skilled invisibility users on the entire planet.”  
Magolor heard a muffled snort , then felt something bounce off of his back. “You can borrow mine. Don’t lose it, though, or you owe me.” He crawled out backwards to find what had fallen on him.  


“Uh, thanks--you use a fountain pen?”  


“Do you have eyes? I’ve been using one since before you came here.” A quiet zipping sound indicated that Marx had pulled another from his bag.  


“Huh. Guess I don't,then. I didn’t really pay attention to what you write with.”  
Magolor returned to his bed and continued his work.  


“And you write in purple?”  


“It’s my brand! Keeps people from claiming my reports as theirs when I forget to write my name. Now be quiet! I’m trying to read!”  


“But I wrote my name in black! Everyone’s going to think I stole your work!”  


“Restart it then! Jeeze.”  


“But I already wrote three paragraphs!”  


“Do you want the pen or not?”  


“Fine, fine.”  


The rustling of parchment could be heard below as Magolor prepared new pages. He was forever thankful that scrolls would only be used for the final essays.  


Just as he predicted, their professor claimed that Marx had written Magolor's essay. It took both testimony from Marx and a handwriting comparison to convince them otherwise. “I apologize for being suspicious. Your statements were remarkably similar, so I had believed that Marx had written both in his purple ink.”  


“Oh! That's because Marx is helping me study ahead! He taught me about this a couple weeks before you brought it up in class. He's really good at it!”  


“Is that so?” They turned to Marx with a little half-grin. “Think you can get the rest of the class that excited about magical document format styles?”  


Marx stared vacantly into the space behind the professor's head, a tiny grin on his face. A small poke from Magolor made him start suddenly.  


“Oh! Yes, of course--I mean no, sorry, I can only tutor him. I mean, in theory I could do the whole class, but Magolor’s a cut above so he's a lot easier to work with, not that it's hard to work with the others, which is not to say that your job is easy, of course, it's just a pref--” a patterned white glove gently patted over Marx's mouth. Magolor had almost tipped over in silent laughter.  


“Easy there, kiddo. I understood what you meant.” The professor smiled at him, their eyes glinting with something mischievous. “You two go keep up the good work, all right?”  


Marx gently brushed the glove aside. “Yeah! Yeah. Come on, Mags.” He turned and went for the door a bit too eagerly.  


“Mags? Since when did you call me that?”  


“You have a three syllable name, pal. I'm not saying that mouthful all the time, so it makes sense to give you a nickname. Why? You got a problem with it?”  


“No, no, it's ..sort of nice, actually.”


	2. Night School

A cool wind slid around the campus as Marx made the ten minute trek to the dormitories. A routine Senferday afternoon discussion with a favorite professor dragged on a bit longer than usual. Then a lot longer. They had started with a few simple clarifications, devolved into a small debate, and then moved into a conversation on the finer points of large scale casting and the importance of maintaining precise right angles on globally-cast triangular rituals. Marx had left the office with a paper covered in scrawled reading recommendations and a dark sky overhead. He folded the paper carefully and tucked it into his cloak pocket alongside his paws.The cloaks here were something special. Enchanted to be warm in the cold and cool in the heat, hydrophobic, and best of all, eternally soft. 

This weather made him thankful for it. The days were getting shorter again and birds were beginning to arrive from the south. Marx had lived here long enough to know that chattering in the trees meant winter was approaching. 

But the chattering had been missing for a few minutes. The wind had stopped. A new heaviness weighed on the air around him, as if something had been added. Probably an illusion caused by the wind stopping. Warmth engulfed him, and his mind prickled with the sudden impression of being watched. 

The sensation of a cold hand slid around the back of his head. Marx took off running immediately, a bust of blind panic sending him hurtling towards the door to his building. He had to get inside. As he ran the hand followed, seemingly stuck to him. The thought of being pursued only made him panic further. He fumbled desperately with door before yanking it open and slamming it behind him. The cold subsided immediately. He kept his pace up until he reached his room. 

Once outside his own door, he stopped. He was being silly. Nothing was out there at all, and he sprinted away from nothing. What would Magolor think of him? He had to calm down and behave normally. He took a breath, relaxed his face, and opened the door. 

“Hey Mags. What's up?” Magolor scratched away dutifully on assignments, but had looked up at the door when he heard the knob turning. 

“Hey to you too. You're back late.” 

“Eh, me 'n Professor Kranchet got into a discussion and lost track of time.” He brought his paws up in a shrug, but Magolor was too busy writing to see. A familiar sight peeked out over the paper. “Did you get a fountain pen?” 

“I like the way yours felt, so I went and got one! Mine's in blue, though.” 

“I can't believe it. You've stolen my gimmick. I thought we were friends, Magolor!” 

“Is poor penmanship with a fancy pen and novelty ink really a gimmick? Seems more like a mistake to me.” 

“Not all of us can have on-so-flawless cursive, bud. No wonder you write so much more slowly than me! 

“Because I want to be able to read my work afterwards. What's the point of taking notes if you can't read them?” 

“I can read them just fine, and they're for me, so it works!” 

They chattered back and forth for a few hours, Marx telling Magolor about his conversation with the professor and Magolor telling a story about the person behaving strangely at the shop he been at earlier. They had been watching him from a corner and moving in a disjointed way, more like a marionette than a person. As they spoke they moved from sitting to lying down, eventually quietly conversing while tucked into their beds. Then their final sentences taped off. The pair fell asleep. 

Awareness returned slowly. Marx was dimly aware of being comfortably warm, then of being in utter blackness. He could see himself faintly, but nothing else. It occurred to him that a dream in the dark should be scary, but he couldn't bring himself to feel any fear. After all, it was only a dream, even if knowing that was odd. 

The blackness turned out to be somewhat boring, despite how comfortable it was. Perhaps he could do something about it? He tried to create something, anything. A small fire, a ball, some dirt. But nothing came. The idea pressed against the edge of materialization without passing through. He heard something laugh faintly in the distance. 

A single star flickered to life above him. Then another, and another. They came alive faster and faster, dotting the new skies with a gentle glow. The stars were both above and below, some closer than others. A purple glow came from the space beneath him and the top lightened to a navy blue. Everything was wonderfully peaceful, and Marx began to float in circles to enjoy the celestial view. 

He slowed to a halt against his own will. A large, star-spangled sphere appeared in front of him, spinning gently. It appeared to be a smaller version of the space around him. A pleasant laugh emitted from it. 

“Hello there, Marx.” 

Marx whirled around, looking for the voice. The sphere laughed. “Over here, friend. The star ball.” 

Marx turned back. “You're a person?” 

“Of course.” 

“What's your name?” 

“You may call me whatever you like.” 

“Okay then…..what are you?” 

“I'm a magician of dreams. The only one, in fact, and I have chosen you as an apprentice. Out of every student in this academy, I have chosen only the most worthy to learn my skills and grow into a powerful mage. I know of abilities your teachers have never seen in their lives. Would you like to learn them?” 

Marx floated, speechless. A powerful mage wanted to teach him. A powerful mage who thought he was the most worthy person here. “Of course…” 

“I only ask that you keep my visits a secret. I worry the others may mock you or disbelieve you.” 

“That's all they ever do.” 

“Such is the price of talent.” The sphere made a sound like a throaty chuckle. “Still, it would not do to encourage them further. Annoyances will only distract you from your studies.” 

“Can I tell Magolor? He's never treated me like the others.” 

“You'll understand when you awaken again. For now, focus on here. Decide what to call me, so our visits may flow more smoothly.” 

Bossy, isn't he? “Would boss work? You seem like the type.” 

“It will work wonderfully.” Boss caught the jab hidden in the name, but elected to ignore it. The title would become sincere soon enough. “However, I shall take my leave for the night. You will need your rest, and I have one other visit to make. I will return to you tomorrow night. Make sure to be asleep before 10pm.” 

“I will.” Marx seemed almost disappointed that the visit had been so short. Good, Boss thought to himself. An easy catch. 

“Then I shall take my leave. Good night, Marx.” 

“Good night, boss.” 

The sphere faded out of existence and the stars began to blink out one by one as the light faded. Soon Marx found himself in the same blackness from before. He felt his consciousness slipping away and reawakened in dreams of his own making. 

Marx woke up yet again, this time to the orange glow of dawn. He felt strangely invigorated, fully awake in a way he hadn't been since childhood. He didn't have to convince himself to leave his bed, and even half-made it before climbing down. Magolor had woken up as well, looking at the bars supporting the top bunk. 

“You're up early.” 

“Yeah. Had a really weird dream, though. Some weird space ball kept trying to get me to give them a name? And--” 

“Purple and blue?” 

Magolor sat up. “He was! And he said he wanted me as an apprentice.” 

“Both of us? Why both of us?” 

“You had the same dream?” Magolor's brow furrowed. 

“I think so. He wanted me to give him a name, and told me he knew more than any of our professors.” 

“If we both had the same dream…maybe it could be real? What are the odds of us having the same dream of the same random person? Unless it's part of a lesson, somehow? Maybe everyone got it.” 

“Mind manipulation is forbidden here, Mags. You know that. It has to be someone else. Besides, I don't think any of the teachers here even know how to do that.” 

“Guess we're going to bed at 10 tonight, then, to find out.” Magolor pulled back the covers and stood, hunting around his desk for his bow tie. 

“He said before ten. Better make it nine so we have time to get to sleep. Maybe we could make a remedy potion, just to make sure?” 

“The ones for insomnia? We'd be out cold in a few minutes. Only issue is finding the time to get out to town so we can buy the ingredients.” Technically it would be Magolor buying the ingredients, as Marx rarely had any money, but he preferred to say “we”. Marx didn't have the benefit of an allowance the way he did. They shared most things nowadays anyway. 

“It's Frissaday, Mags. We can leave whenever.” 

A brief glance at the wall calendar proved it. There would be no need for the bowtie after all. “Oh. So it is. Well, that's convenient. Maybe he knew we'd need the time and was polite enough to make sure he showed up before our day off! What a nice guy!” 

“Well we'd better get up and make use of it, then. Get dressed already dude.” Marx, being a puff, didn't exactly need clothes, but he wore a red clip-on bow tie for fun. 

“I'm trying! My cloak is missing again.” 

“It's on the closet floor with your hood, right where you left it after laundry day. Probably all wrinkled up now.” 

“Oh! Found it! Thanks. It doesn't wrinkle, though. It's too thick for that.” He changed as quickly as he could, tugging the collar of his cloak in place and closing the buckle. “All right, all ready. Let's go!” 

The walk to town was uneventful. A quiet forest path lined with skinny trees led into a small, bustling area lined with boutiques and supply stores. Halsatz was a small town, and most of its economy came from the academy it bordered. Students had been making the trek for years to pick up supplies and snacks. They were often seen patronizing the family restaurants and cafes scattered around the main street as well. Marx, having previously been friendless and currently broke ( as his bi-weekly stipend almost always went towards his studies) only cared about two places in town. The bookstore was one of them, being the sort of shop that ended up being a library with a permanent checkout. It was large and maze-like, with a passive staff, meaning he could read for hours undisturbed. If he managed to find a particularly good book, he'd end up taking it home with him. 

The other place was the apothecary. Though it had been originally built for medical purposes, it had expanded rapidly after the founding of the academy, selling more and more until it had essentially become a magical general store. This was where the pair would go to find their ingredients. 

A small bell jingled as the door opened inwards, colliding softly with a thick burlap bag of yellow pellets. The heavy smell hit them first. A pungent odor permeated the place, the sort of scent that couldn't be described as anything other than “magic shop.” Magolor pulled his cloak more tightly over his mouth. Marx breathed in deeply, pulling the scent towards the roof of his mouth. “You learn to like it.” He gently took Magolor's hand and pulled him between the aisles of low shelves. 

The entire store was dim, lit only by a few tallow candles. It didn't take the two long to find what they needed. Small sacks of powder and herbs in hand, they turned together towards the checkout--and were immediately knocked to the floor, sending a bag of dried bluish seeds to the ground. 

“Oh! I am so sorry! I didn't see you there! Here, let me get that for you.” A tall, thin blue woman with long limbs and long fingers crouched to the ground, scooping the seeds back into the bag. Unbeknownst to the pair, she had also added a light powdering of something else. Refolding the bag, she straightened, turned back to them, and held it out. “Here you go! I got them all picked up for you. Sorry again for running into you. It's a bit hard to see in this store, what with the low light.” 

Marx seemed quietly furious, but Magolor placed a hand on his side, cooling him down. “Thank you, ma'am. It's all right.” She smiled and nodded, leaving the store quickly. Once she had turned away from them, her smile became a smirk. Her job was done. 

The pair went up to pay, Magolor slipping a large wad of bills from his wallet and handing the clerk exact change. They began to rush home the second they were outside. Nothing was more important to them in that moment than creating the potion and proving to themselves that what they had dreamt of existed. 

Marx wriggled underneath the bunk beds the second they returned. He retrieved a small leather case. It contained basic equipment for potion brewing: a mortar and pestle, a few beakers, test tubes, tongs, measuring tools, and a magically-powered hot plate. He arranged the necessary items on his desk while Magolor measured out the proper ingredients. 

The potion was very simple, taking only a half hour to complete. Their work resulted in a shimmering blue potion, thick and moving on its own only slightly. Marx took the beaker from the heat and poured the liquid evenly into two small cups. He then gave one cup to Magolor, who set it on the bedside table. 

“Letting them sit isn't going to improve the flavor, unfortunately: but we need to wait until nine on the dot. It should begin working at the five minute mark.” 

“Isn't that a bit early? He said ten. Maybe we should try for 9:30 instead.” 

Marx thought about it for a moment. “All right, sure. 9:30. Got a while until then, though, so we should probably go eat or something.” 

“It's that weird green-grey stuff again. We should've headed to the café while we were out.” Magolor made a face. “I still don't understand how you can eat it.” 

“Eh. It's familiar. Kinda like chewing mint.” 

“More like chewing cud that's already been through a couple times.” 

“Is that what you're doing behind your collar all day?” Magolor responded with a sharp laugh before tipping back onto the bed and giggling. Marx set his own vial down before squashing himself towards the floor, wiggling slightly. A small moment of tension. Then he burst upwards, landing on his roommate with his full weight. Marx weighed very little, but it was still enough to force a small “Oof!” from Magolor. He grabbed the puff with both hands and rolled, squishing Marx beneath him. Marx wriggled and pushed, but Magolor didn't budge. 

“Get off me!” 

Magolor's face curled into a laugh. “No!” 

“Please?” 

“Nah!” 

Marx's eyes grew wider, gaining a new sparkle they hadn’t had previously. “Pretty please?” 

“Are you really trying that? I'm immune to The Eyes.” 

“No you aren't…” The saccharine voice continued. 

“Oh yes I am!” Magolor changed his voice to match, mocking slightly. He dropped his face forward, forehead colliding gently with Marx's own. “Bonk!” 

Marx took his chance and immediately stuck his tongue out. Magolor recoiled as soon as he spotted it, moving back into a standing position. “Don't lick me!” 

The puff smirked. “Works every time.” 

“That's not fair!” 

“Neither is lying on top of someone smaller than you. Now come on Mags, we're going to be late!” He scooted off the bed, grabbed Magolor's hand, and began to lead him out the door. Magolor gripped right back. 

After a quick breakfast, the two spent the rest of the day wandering around the campus and the nearby forest, chattering up a storm and occasionally breaking into a run. Lunchtime came and went, the pair choosing to snack and get back to running. By the time dinner approached, they were running low on steam. 

“Maybe we won't need those potions after all. I think I'm going to pass out the second I hit the pillow.” Magolor pushed his collar back up, making a small effort to seem less disheveled. If he had feet, they would be dragging. 

The pair of feet making soft prints in the dust beside him were definitely dragging. Marx plodded slowly beside his roommate. Even his bowtie seemed to be drooping. “We should still drink them,just in case. And we did go through all that trouble.” 

“Mm. True, but food first.” The conversation ended as he pushed open the thick door that led to the dining hall. The two kept their dinner short, intentionally choosing warm, heavy foods that would make them feel drowsier. 

By the time 8:30 rolled around, they were practically dragging themselves up the stairs. The pair weren't athletes by any means. Their decision to run around all day had given them muscle aches and an all-encompassing desire to lie down. They sat on Magolor's bed, slouched against the wall. Neither of them wanted to move, so they began slowly mumbling about mundane things to keep themselves awake. When the clock hit 9:30, Marx scooted lethargically across the sheets and pulled the two cups from the table. 

“On the count of three.” They tossed the blue slime back in sync, then sat swaying for a matter of seconds before collapsing over each other in a pile. 

The two awoke in a new place that was seemingly at odds with itself. The sky surrounded them, spangled richly with stars and painted with brightly colored blue nebulae. The remnants of a pale rose floor stretched beneath them. Tiles fell away endlessly, but the floor never seemed to grow smaller. Translucent, prismatic polyhedrons with hexagonal faces floated in the air, rotating slowly while changing color. There seemed to be something fluffy and indistinct in each one. Above and below them, opaque navy pyramids seemed to roll forward on nothing, moving face by face. A golden light seemed to be trying desperately to force itself through the seams of the pyramid, causing each one to vibrate and rumble. Dark blue-grey clouds rolled through the area, warm and inviting. 

It was only after spending close to a minute staring at the scene before them that they realized they were both there. Silently, they floated nearer to each other. Sharing a dream didn't alarm them, nor did it confuse them. There would be no time for either. A familiar sphere floated into view. 

“Your minds are beautiful together. So intricate. You shall make fine students. So punctual, even early. The potion was an act of commitment to your education, and to me, and I appreciate it greatly.” The voice was slow and warm, sourceless but bursting with pride. The ghost of a hand brushed across their heads, warm, soft, comfortable. It left pleasant tingles in its wake. Magolor stiffened slightly at the first touch. Marx started only slightly before relaxing again. 

This place and their teacher were light and ethereal. Boss’ voice was gentle and smooth as he guided them through their first lesson, simple pointers on gathering of magical energy from the ambient power of the environment and then utilizing it efficiently. This was the first thing any magic student would learn, but Boss seemed to understand it more than the teachers in their waking world. Any apprehension between the three disappeared quickly, replaced with the joy of learning new skills. 

Boss stayed near them the entire time, teaching them what to think about, how to position themselves, what areas were best for gathering, and what species held the most untapped power. Every success was quickly met with droplets of praise. Hard-won breakthroughs earned them a hearty pat to the back. Try as they might, neither of them could see the thing touching them, but every bit of praise made the centers of the polyhedrons swell and glow with pink light. The pyramids responded with stillness and an intense glow. 

The three worked for a while, practicing until both students could pull enormous volumes of simulated magic from the environment. They were permitted to take a break, moving off to investigate their surroundings as Boss watched. Each of them had taken one of the other's constructs. They sat near each other, comparing their shapes and trying to pry them open. 

Both constructs flew upwards and out of reach. “That would be inadvisable. We can attempt that later, during another lesson. For now I am going to have to take my leave, as are you.” 

“Already? It feels like we just got here….” Marx seemed to droop bit, still staring longingly after his confiscated piece of Magolor's mind. 

“We have to wake up at some point, Marx.” Magolor had simply turned his attention to making swirls in piles of magic he had collected and turned into fluff. If he wasn't supposed to open the shapes yet, he'd be able to later. 

“Correct. Though I am flattered that you wish to stay for more than a night, you must awaken so you may sleep again. Come here.” The impression of a hand gently nudged them both towards the starry orb. They floated over without much fear. 

To their surprise, they were both pushed flush with the orb and held there tightly. It gave way softly and seemed to almost purr. “I'm so glad.” It said simply. The hands hugging them began to lift instead, cupping them each in an invisible palm before nestling them next to each other in a dark cloud. They heard a faint goodbye, then felt a warm nothing. 

Warm nothing became a warm something. A slight weight rested on Magolor's abdomen, breathing quietly. Early morning had come once again, grey and heavy. He felt as if he hadn't left the cloud he fell awake in, and he had no desire to get up. Every bit of bedding had contoured perfectly to him, his roommate had curled up to him peacefully, and they had nothing at all to do today. Magolor's fate was sealed. 

He spent the next hour in absolute peace. No one moved, not even as rain began to pat gently on the window. Thunder rumbled calmly in the distance and lulled Magolor into a drifting warmth, hovering on the edge of sleep. His thoughts slipped from place to place, nonsensical and easy. 

When Marx came to, he saw Magolor above him, eyes closed and serene. He shut his eyes and drifted back downwards. In the end, the only thing that convinced them to get up was hunger. Magolor gently nudged Marx, who reluctantly moved. The rest of the day passed in quiet excitement. Bedtime had become more interesting than anything else the day had to offer them. 

"Good evening. How were your classes?" Boss already knew, of course. His students' faces were subdued, a far cry from their usual bursting enthusiasm. 

"It was fine." The pair spoke simultaneously, their tones a bit strained and nearly the same. Interesting. Boss tucked that detail away for later. 

"I can tell something's happened. Not sharing is acceptable, but please do not lie." He kept his tone gentle but inquisitive. "Did someone do something to you?" 

Magolor chose to speak up. "There's this girl in some of our classes who keeps using her own straw to jab us in the back when we're not looking. She even does it in the hall." 

"Her straw? A Broom Hatter, I presume?" 

Even the mention of her had Marx fuming. "Yeah. She's terrible! She pops her gum and never shuts up about whatever stupid thing she did yesterday!" 

"Hmm…" Boss pretended to ponder something for a few moments, then spoke. "I may be able to assist you. Would you like to learn about false-fire?" 

Green flames tore across the girl's straw as she screamed in terror and pain. The two watched from the opposite side of their table as her edges blackened, smoke rising from her left arm. Everyone near her had backed away, the professor pulling the fire extinguisher from the wall. 

The flames disappeared on their own before the teacher pulled the nozzle free. The broom hatter girl stared in disbelief at her own arm, perfect and golden. Nothing remained, not even a trace of smoke. In the following days, the girl would become a model pupil, staying as still and quiet as possible in class and treating the lab equipment with the utmost care. 

"Fear, you see, is a useful tool. The occasional illusion or display of power can be enough to drive enemies back or to even avoid a fight altogether. You did very well today. May I assume that no one else has interfered with your schooling?" 

"No one at all! We're actually faster now so we can get to bed on time." 

"Strange, then, that you've been late to bed the last few sessions. Are you losing interest?" 

Marx's eyes widened. "N-no, not at all! We just have trouble sleeping sometimes when there's a lot of noise next door. We're trying really hard, we promise!" 

"I understand, but punctuality is a virtue. It is impolite to expect a meeting and leave someone waiting." A subtle displeasure crept into Boss's voice. 

"We can fix it, can't we Marx? We can make more sleeping potions! That way nothing can keep us awake!" 

Boss laughed internally. 

The last day of each week became shopping day. A time normally used for relaxing became a time for brewing a week's worth of sleeping potions. The employees of the apothecary came to know them by name. They were never late again. 

Every night brought new information. It took them mere days to learn techniques that would typically take weeks to master. Boss showered them with praise and encouragement. The top bunk gathered dust. 

Their sudden, rapid advancement wasn't always met positively. Rumors grew amongst those who knew the pair. They were abusing potions or creating illusions. A few students declared that they were secret warlocks. They were putting out too much energy, sometimes even to the point of generating an area effect. They were louder now and strode through the halls with a confidence they had lacked before. One classmate claimed he saw Marx leaning against nonexistent surfaces and pushing himself upwards for no reason at all.


	3. Pendants and Paranoia

A school-wide presentation in the auditorium was guaranteed to be something simple and boring. They happened once or twice a trimester, and were almost always about something that no one cared about. A mandatory lecture on the importance of following safety rules, for example, or some guest researcher's pet subject. The presenters would drone on and on until the student body fell asleep. 

Crowds of students filed down the aisles, forming clusters of friends in the seats. Marx and Magolor tucked themselves into the back corner furthest from the stage. More and more students filed in, turning the auditorium black with cloaked figures. A hum reverberated around the room as students spoke to each other. 

The headmaster walked onstage, taking his place in the center. Behind him a projector screen unfurled and stretched itself taut. 

"Good morning, everyone. This trimester's presentation is going to be on safety." A few loud sighs were heard and ignored. "More specifically, it's going to be about spirits and their warlocks. You will learn how to identify them and how to defend yourself. Be sure to pay attention. This information could save not only you, but your fellow mages as well." He drew a long, ornate wooden wand from his beard with a flourish and tapped it against the screen. 

It rippled to life, colors flowing across the surface and sinking into their assigned places. The new image depicted a wizened wizard, long of tooth in the literal sense. He hunched over, gesturing invitingly towards the viewer with a menacing smile. 

"I'm certain many of you already know about warlocks and the threat they pose. For those of you who don't, be warned. Warlocks are wizards who, in lieu of practice, have made a bargain with a spirit for magical power." A tap of the wand switched the screen to an image of a purple, smoking mass with a single enormous eye. The wizard from the previous slide knelt before it in supplication. 

"The spirit will lend strength to their warlock in exchange for something they desire, usually the completion of specific tasks or worship in some form. Oftentimes these two duties are mixed together. Worship increases their magical power, while the warlock's dedication to enacting the spirit's will gives the spirit influence on the physical plane. While this may seem to be an ideal arrangement for both parties, the reality is that the warlock becomes a bearer of evil for those around them. A simple beneficial relationship soon turns into a reliance on their spirit for power, and the tasks given become more terrible as time continues. Mundane requests become stealing, then arson, then poisonings. The life of the warlock ceases to exist beyond their need to serve. If their spirit wishes it, they will even begin to recruit others into its service." Another tap revealed a bulleted list. 

"If you are ever confronted by another mage who wants you to come with them, take note of their behavior and appearance. There are many signs to watch out for. They may want you to follow them and meet someone, but be unwilling to specify who the person is. Never follow anyone who isn't forthright about their motives." The headmaster paused to adjust his hat. 

"They may have physical features that are unusual for their species. They may have horns, a tail, or extra fingers. They may have strange markings resembling ornate scars, unknown symbols, or skin not belonging to their species. Extra eyes should be viewed with extreme caution. They may mutter to themselves while looking in a specific direction, fall into sudden fits of laughter, talk to themselves, or move in an irregular manner. These behaviors are only suspect when present with other signs, however, as many mages behave unusually for harmless reasons." Another tap revealed another list. 

"If you should come across any person who you believe to be a warlock, take the following steps. The first step is to give absolutely no indication that you suspect them of being a warlock, or that you know they're trying to recruit you. Do not panic. Many warlocks are quick to prey on weakness, and may use your distress as a way to trick you or as an excuse to take you. They can be very manipulative if they wish to be, twisting your words and making seemingly innocuous arguments in bad faith in order to convince you to give their way a try. Politely decline any offers they make and leave as soon as you are able. 

"When you're safe, find a trusted older mage and tell them about your encounter. Otherwise contact the local magical authority. They'll retrieve the warlock and help them remove their spiritual attachment." The next slide showed a multi-colored array of creatures and blobs, teeth, eyes, and patterns of all sorts divvied up between them seemingly at random. The audience stared silently, a tension coming over the room. 

The headmaster cleared his throat and took a sip of water from a small bottle on the edge of a nearby stool. "Now, on the matter of spirits. Much focus is put upon warlocks, but they are merely the victims of a hidden blight. The true threat is the spirits themselves. They can appear in any form and behave in any manner. The crudest, weakest ones reported commonly resort to threats and terror. The most dangerous ones are like spiders in a parlor, creating an inviting environment so you don't notice the web they've spun around you. Many warlocks have no idea of their own status, believing themselves to simply be the friend of a strange and helpful entity. Some believe they have been chosen by a god, while a few particularly unlucky mages believe that a dead family member is helping them from the afterlife." 

"The average spirit doesn't care whatsoever for its mage. They are sapient masses of pure magical energy, concerned only with the acquisition of power. For every warlock there are a dozen infested magic-imbued items. It, like most creatures, wants simply to eat and grow. If you are approached by a spirit, beware. Most spirits confident enough to approach a mage and offer them their own energy are far from weak and unlikely to be foolish. If a spirit approaches you, tell someone immediately. It doesn't matter if it came to you in a dream, in broad daylight, in the dark of night, if you never saw it, or if you saw it while you were high." 

The headmaster paused to give the students time to laugh, as they did every time he gave this presentation. Giggles rippled around the auditorium, the only sound that had come from the audience in the past half hour. Once they had died down, he continued. "Tell someone. Tell someone about anything and everything unusual you encounter. It's better to have a dozen false positives than a dozen warlocks. It's better to wrongly report the odd man you met than it is to leave a fellow mage under a spirit's control. If you stay alert and remain wary you may be able to protect yourself and others from the greatest threat ever faced by mages." 

The screen flashed off and the lights came up as the students began polite applause. The headmaster took a small bow, then walked off the stage, taking the stool and bottle with him. The crowds reformed and began to file out, talking and laughing with each other. 

Magolor sat stock still in his seat. Marx had already gotten up, pushing a hand behind him to help Magolor stand as well. The continued emptiness of his hand prompted him to turn around. 

"Mags, the presentation's over. Let's go." 

Magolor didn't move. "Marx, do you think…?" His voice quavered. 

"Of course not. We're not stupid." 

"But he said--" 

"Mags, it's okay. We can discuss it in our room, all right?" He extended his hand again. "Come on." After a moment more, Magolor took the offered hand and allowed himself to be guided out of the auditorium. Their classmates monitored their walk more closely than usual. 

Magolor's silence ended the second the door closed behind them. "I think Boss is a spirit! It all lines up! He's big and powerful, he's really nice, he compliments us all the time, he made that cool dream space for us, everything! He's going to make us crazy! We have to tell someone!" He was nearly yelling, eyes wild with anxiety. 

"Not so loud! These walls aren't thick!" Marx sounded nearly as frantic as Magolor did. He took a slow breath. "Look. He's not a spirit. There's no way he could be one. Think about it. He's never asked us to do anything and he's never given us any power. He's only ever taught us how to get it ourselves. He said it himself. He's only a teacher. And since when is being nice a crime? Or being honest?" 

Magolor paused, thinking. "Well. Yes, all that's true, but...what if we're just not there yet? What if it's still early on and the tasks and worship stuff come later? What if he only taught us how to gather power so he can take it secretly? Maybe that's why he always hugs us..maybe--" 

"Mags. It's been weeks. He would've done it by now. But he still hasn't asked anything of us. And he hugs us because he likes us and we do a good job! Boss wouldn't hurt us, we're his students! Teachers don't do that. I bet we can ask him about spirits when we go to bed and he'll tell us stuff no one else even knows about them! That'll prove it! A spirit would never tell us about his species. It'd be giving us ways to get away and destroy them!" 

"That does make sense…" Magolor's brow furrowed. "But what if he wants us to think that, or he lies…" 

"Name one thing he's lied about." 

"You're right…I'm probably making connections where there are none again." He grimaced. 

"At least you're vigilant like they said to be! Spirits will never get us with you around." Marx gave him a couple of reassuring pats on the back. 

"I just don't want you getting hurt." Magolor slipped his hand into Marx's, pulling him gently towards the door. "Let's go get some food before bed. We can ask him later like you said." 

The familiar weightless floating had engulfed the two once again. By now they were used to sharing dreams, and waited patiently for the landscape and their mentor to appear. 

"Greetings. How are my favorites doing on this fine night?" 

"Oh it's...we're doing all right." Magolor responded a bit too quickly to be natural. Both of them had their eyes glued to the floor. 

"Say, Boss, is it all right if we ask you a question?" 

The orb rolled forward through the air. "Hmm? Of course you may. I am here to teach." 

Magolor began to speak. "Ca--can.." The words caught in his throat and his eyes began to drill into the floor. Marx finished for him. "Can you tell us about spirits? We had to go to a presentation about warlocks and spirits today and we're uh, curious. Yeah." 

"An interesting question. Of course I'll answer it. I'm assuming you've already been told how to protect yourself from them, so I'll move to more interesting topics." Hands nudged the two of them into sitting positions in the clouds. 

"A spirit is a collection of magical energy that has grown strong enough to reach sentience. They occur when raw energy has been gathered and left unused for a long period of time. If a magical item is enchanted improperly and some of the magic remains unpurposed, it will find one for itself. In rare cases the emotions and thoughts of a local population may stir up small amounts of ambient magic until it coalesces into a living form. A spirit, put simply, is magic that has found a will of its own. Usually it desires cruelty and power, but I have seen a few choose their hosts out of a sense of altruism. Not all warlocks have been mages. Some of them don't have enough magic to float a feather, but were chosen anyways, merely because they were in need of assistance." 

"But then how would the spirit eat?" Marx seemed puzzled. 

"Anyone can worship. Spirits who choose to help usually only demand enough to maintain their size. Of course, they're still destroyed with the rest once they're discovered." Boss made sure to pitch his voice down forlornly at the end. 

"But why? If they're good they aren't hurting anyone, right?" 

"Mage authorities see spirits as something of an addictive plague. A bacterium is a bacterium, even if it proves beneficial. Biologists know that some bacteria are good, but the general populace thinks of them as pests. Unfortunately magical studies are often hindered by the status quo. What you were taught by your headmaster today has been taught to generations of mages." 

"What's your real name?" 

"It's a secret. When I attended this school I was...less than beloved. I didn't want to tell you as a precaution, in case you two turned out to be loose-lipped, but it's been a while, and I haven't heard a single peep around the campus about my existence." 

"You can hear around the school? How?" Magolor’s head tilted to the side. 

"I have my ways. I like to keep eyes and ears on things. Helps me find students to help and...perhaps I have a bit of an eavesdropping problem when it comes to my old professors. My listening proved you both to be trustworthy enough." The sphere spun a bit faster, its internal shimmer twinkling a bit more than usual. "My name is Dr. N. Emeritus." 

The two sat in excited silence before Magolor blurted "Are you a ball in real life too?" Marx shushed him quickly, hissing his name in embarrassment. 

Boss chuckled. Magolor felt a warm weight settle between his ears and pat him. "Yes and no. My species is rare and a bit unusual. I don't even know what I am. I lack a family to tell me." 

"Oh...sorry." He looked down, embarrassed, but the weight didn't leave. 

"Don't be. There's nothing wrong with curiosity. You both may feel free to ask me any questions that may come into your minds." 

"Anything?" 

"Anything at all." 

Magolor fiddled with the edge of his cloak, weighing his options. He could, but it might ruin things forever. Marx would be upset and they'd lose a good friend. Everything would go away. Or maybe it wouldn't, but if it did, wouldn't that be a good outcome too? If turned out to be one, and he left, they'd be safe again. Unless he sent someone after them? But the teachers could protect them. But if he didn't, they'd never know the truth and then they'd get trapped. 

"Are you, um. A...um a--a warlock?" The fabric of his cloak wrinkled in his fists as the question squeaked from him. He stared intently into the cloud he sat on. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. The hand resting atop his head slid to the side, a thumb running up the side of his ear repeatedly in a way that almost made him trill. It was an old gesture of comfort in his family. 

"All of my power comes from years of work, and only the most impressive of spirits could even attempt to defeat me. You are both under my protection, and I will see to it that no harm comes to either of you." Boss's invisible hand now supported Magolor, who leaned against it without a care in the world. He seemed almost asleep despite the fact that he was already dreaming. "You can trust me just as I trust you." 

The rest of the night passed a tad more quietly than usual, with quiet, friendly conversation between the three. Marx showed Boss his progress in a newer technique they had been learning. Boss gave him a few new pointers and he moved a short distance away in order to practice. 

Magolor sat nearly beneath Boss, still leaning against the hand but wide awake once more. He fiddled with one of the polyhedrons again while Boss watched over him and murmured hints in his ear. The shapes that floated through the air were fascinating to him. He wanted desperately to pull one apart and investigate the inside. It wasn't often he was permitted to actually touch one. There was something comforting and familiar about them, like a favorite childhood toy, but at the same time they were wonderfully exciting. 

"Be very careful. It is a delicate container, and necessary as well. Do not break it." 

"I can't get in. There's a few little seams here, but I'm not able to get my fingers in there at all." 

"Hmm. May I assist? You may simply require the correct tools." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Give me your hand and I will show you. Trust me." 

Magolor set the polyhedron carefully on the ground. Hesitantly, he extended his right hand upwards towards Boss. 

"Ready?" Magolor nooded, and a twisting, electric tingle curled over his skin. His dark palms grew even darker, his fingertips lengthening into flat, sharp black claws. Boss completed the change in a matter of seconds. "Try it again." 

Magolor stared blankly at his hand, turning it over and bending his fingers. Boss tapped him on the head. "Focus. Try opening it again. I expect you will have an easier time now that your hand has been improved." 

The mage's attention turned back to the shape sitting in his lap. Lifting it up once more, he pushed his new claws against a seam. They slid in effortlessly. Magolor stiffened his fingertips and angled his hand downwards, prying the polyhedrons open with a small pop. He immediately brought the hole to his eye. 

The indistinct fluff within the shape rushed out all at once, covering him entirely in a lavender mist. A very safe, familiar, warm mist that seemed to hold nothing but affection for him. It swirled playfully around him and he giggled, feeling it flap the edges of his cloak. Some of it spiraled upwards, tentatively making its way towards Boss. The smoke settled for moving around him in wobbly rings, making him look like a miniature planet. 

A laser-sharp focus broke, replaced with a strange and sudden sense of longing. Marx looked up for the first time in an hour and was greeted with the sight of lavender. An open, empty polyhedron was lying next to Magolor. He and Boss were both fiddling around with the mist, watching as it curled around them. 

Dropping his magic, Marx made his way to one of the pyramids slowly rolling around the dream. He held it carefully to his chest and made his way towards the other two. Spikes formed in the mist and pointed directly at him. Marx stopped in his tracks. "What?" He took a step forward and the pikes grew towards him. Every time he tried to come near, the spikes would grow longer,jabbing outwards quickly. They formed a towering wall that curved over him, concealing his friends from sight defensively. 

"That will be enough of that." Boss gathered the mist into a small ball and slipped it back into the polyhedron, using the removed face to cap it and placing it back into the air. A strange and sudden loneliness permeated Magolor's chest. He was sorely in need of a hug, but chose to nestle himself further into the hand behind him. Fingers curled around him. 

"Do you believe you can open that contraption, Marx?" 

"Sure! Lemme give it a shot." Marx sat in the clouds about a meter away from Magolor and began to turn the pyramid over in his paws, investigating the entire surface. His fingers fit into the gaps easily, but the faces refused to budge from their position no matter how hard he pulled. He tried sliding one sideways, then tried pushing it inwards. Nothing worked. 

"Can I see it?" Magolor had scooted a bit closer, holding out his hand. 

"Why not? It's not like it'll do anything." Marx tossed the pyramid towards hin, scowling with frustration. 

Schick. 

Magolor held the pyramid away from his face, overwhelmed by the light he had released. He handed it back to Marx. A golden current swirled outwards, glowing brightly, curling its way around the area like ink in water. It felt like satin and static electricity. The gold wrapped around Marx without hesitation, but moved far more tentatively around Boss, moving towards and away from him like a shy animal. It drifted around Magolor, having no reaction to him at all. He ran his clawed fingers through it and the gold seemed to flinch. 

"How come you could open it?" 

"For the very same reason you can open the polyhedrons. I will leave that answer for you to discover, however." 

The rest of their time was spent fiddling with the strange shapes and practicing a few skills. The pair would awaken with their suspicions completely soothed. 

And for a while, things were comfortable again. Days flowed into each other easily, lulling them into a pleasant routine. Marx was lying on the bed working on a puzzle while Magolor studied at his desk. Neither spoke, leaving the comfortable silence in the room where it was. It dissipated with an unexpected knock on the door. 

Marx rolled off of the bed and went to the door, opening it to reveal a tall, thin, familiar woman. He couldn't place her face exactly, but he had seen her somewhere... 

Magolor’s memory was, for once, a bit better. "Oh! The lady we bumped into in the apothecary a few months ago! Hello again ma'am!" He waved to her from his desk. 

"How did you get into the dorms? ...And how did you know where we live? What's going on here?" The door began to creep shut. Marx stared up at the strange guest, eyes narrowed. 

"I'm with Mr.Emeritus. He has requested I make a delivery to the two of you. As for how? You'll find that I am very quiet when I wish to be." Her smile was small and polite, not reaching her eyes. 

"A delivery? What for?" Magolor had now turned fully around in his seat, curious to see what she had in store. 

"Little gifts, he said. I'm not certain what they are myself." She handed the box down to Marx, who took it in one glove delicately. "He seems to be rather fond of you two." Her grin grew warmer. Marx flushed a bit. "I'll be off now, dears. Take care!" There was a quiet swish, then no sign of her anywhere. 

"Where'd she go?" Magolor seemed puzzled. 

"I have no idea." Marx peered up and down the hallway before closing the door and relocking it. "Maybe she's his personal courier or something like that. She's pretty fast!" 

“Those are expensive. Maybe she’s just a friend of his?” 

Homework abandoned, Magolor scooted from his chair and took the box from Marx's paws. "I wonder what he sent us? Must be important if he risked sending something to us in real life." Setting the box down on his desk, he used his pen to undo the tape holding the flaps of the box together. 

Inside the box were a pair of dark wooden boxes, seemingly without hinges or clasps. Each box was engraved with one of their names. Magolor pulled them out, handing Marx his box before opening his own. 

Inside the box was a necklace. A dark red stone laid into an ornate golden socket formed the pendant. It hung on a thick, beaded chain that ended in a lobster claw clasp. Both gifts fit around their recipients perfectly. 

"They're beautiful…" Magolor ran his finger over the surface of the gem. It seemed to shimmer slightly, light reflecting beautifully off of its smooth, round surface. "And warm...weird. Maybe they're enchanted." 

"Knowing Boss? They're definitely enchanted. I wonder what they do?" Marx stared at his own, playing with the chain. "I guess we'll have to ask him when we go to sleep again. Probably just an enchantment to keep it warm before it touches bare skin, though." 

“Hmm. Unless they’re for something else? Maybe they’re for a lesson, or a new skill we’re going to learn.” Magolor returned to his desk and picked up his pen. 

The next morning brought trouble. Boss had informed them during the night that the necklaces were a gift to commemorate “half a year of learning”, as he had put it. So, of course, the two wore them to class. They were very nice gifts, after all, and it would be rude to leave them unused (especially while knowing that he could see them). They had a wonderful teacher and the necklaces were a lovely reminder of that fact. Neither of them seemed to be able to think about anything but their boss. 

Unfortunately, neither of them had taken the time to think of the potential consequences, like the consequences of wearing ornate matching necklaces in public after rapidly gaining massive amounts of magical skill. People were watching again. Students were standoffish and wary, keeping to the edges of the halls and not speaking to either of them. 

"I told you," one student whispered to the other, "I told you they were. Everyone could tell and now here's the proof! They'll be handing out pamphlets next." Magolor turned and glared, scaring them into silence. The whispers in the halls created an oppressive air that weighed on them heavily. Marx pressed closer to Magolor, feet moving briskly in the direction of their class. 

The classroom proved no better. The professor watched them too closely and the other students were scooting further away. When papers were handed back they ended up being nearly thrown to them from a foot away. After class a strange teenager in dark makeup asked them about their "dark spirit work". 

Marx stomped right in front of her, startling her. "We are not working with spirits! We're not fucking warlocks and I'm sick of you people treating us like we're poisonous! We're just better than you, okay! Get it through your thick skulls!" 

The hallway had gone completely silent. Several students had stopped in their tracks to watch Marx's public tantrum. The girl was quiet, hands bunched in her cape as she stared at the floor. Then the people around them began to laugh. It grew louder and louder, students cracking jokes and elbowing each other. 

"Jeeze, Marx, we know you're not warlocks. What spirit would want you?" The burly simirror boy from before stepped out into the circle, gripping one of the girl's shoulders and leading her back into the throng. "All you ever do is whine about how you're so great and no one else understands how amazing and smart you are. You only have a friend because he's your roommate and he has to be." 

"That's not true! Marx is smarter and nicer than any of you! You're just...just jerks!" Magolor's voice pitched upwards into an unwanted whine at the end. 

"Oh nooooo, I'm a jerk! Whatever." He deposited the girl with her friends and began to leave. "At least I don't scream at a girl just asking me a question." 

Marx lunged at the simirror's back with a shout, fire already curling from his glove. Magolor grabbed him by the collar just in time, but the simirror was already turning. "Oh? You want to fight me? Sure, I'll fight you. Just don't go running to the headmaster when I beat your ass." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a wand. A flurry of bright shapes burst towards Marx. 

Marx pulled himself free of Magolor roughly and began to send back an attack of his own, not even bothering to counter the attack thrown at him. Fire burst from his gloves, rocketing towards his opponent. 

They fizzled and died halfway there. He tried again to the same result. He tried orbs of light, arcs of electricity, and small stones to no avail. A pane of light struck him in the face. 

"What happened to all that power, huh? Guess it was nothing after all." The simirror launched an overwhelming barrage of light that even the spectators had to move to avoid. Marx, trapped in the center, couldn't. Magolor's attempt to shield wouldn't materialize. They hit him like a semi truck made of glass shards. 

Marx lay on his back, thoroughly battered. Students began to leave the scene, bored now that their source of entertainment was gone. Lunch was in a few minutes anyway. Magolor stayed, moving up close to Marx and looking him over. 

Marx had dark purple bruises all over his face and arm. Tears of rage were leaking freely from the corners of his eyes. "Why didn't it work? Where'd my magic go?" 

"Marx, we have to tell the he--" 

"Don't." 

"But why? They be--" 

I said don't!" Magolor went silent. That was the first time he had heard Marx yell at him since they became friends. Marx looked away regretfully before his eyes slid back over to Magolor. "...Sorry." 

"Let's just go home." Magolor pulled Marx to his feet and helped him back to their dorm and, to his bed. The necklace swung innocuously over his cloak.


	4. Ascent and Descent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time for the meat

That night's lesson was put off in favor of "a little break" as Boss put it. Marx had objected, of course, but Boss held firm. Instead his students were nestled in a downy, warm cloud while he floated feather-light above them. The lighting was warm and low. Thunder rumbled quietly in the distance. The cool air smelled of rain. Boss chose to keep his voice low. 

"Now Marx, you know it is not your fault that happened. The others were the ones treating you poorly. You must not assign blame to the wrong party." 

"If I hadn't been so useless, I wouldn't have been beaten!" 

"If they were worth anything, they would understand not to fight you at all." 

"But they did, and I lost. I was too weak to use my power when I actually needed it. It's pathetic." Marx had looked down, trying and failing to conceal the tears gathering in his eyes or the flush on his cheeks 

"Come now, there's no need for any of that. We can make it better." Boss floated closer, nestling himself against Marx in an approximation of a hug. Warm, invisible hands squeezed him firmly. Marx was crying against Boss openly and angrily. Magolor had hugged him from behind, sandwiching him in. 

"My darling students, I do believe the time has come for you to leave these fools behind." By now, Boss didn't even choke on the "darling". He was becoming frighteningly good at this sort of thing. 

"What do you mean?" Marx had pulled back slightly to voice the question. His students looked up at him with such a delightful confusion that he was almost sad that this phase was ending. 

"I mean that you're ready to graduate, so to speak. You have learned all you can at this school, and it is now time for the next phase of your apprenticeships. I would like for the two of you to come and study with me, so that I may instruct you more personally. Not all things can be taught in dreams." 

"Y-you mean we get to meet you? For real?" Magolor's face had gone wide with surprise. Marx beamed with excitement, tears nearly forgotten. 

"Yes, of course! You would be tutored by me personally. I only have one small request of you before you join me. It would aid us all greatly in the future and prevent some rather cruel people from gaining more power than they deserve to wield." 

"Who? What are we doing?" 

"I need the two of you to remove a few specific buildings on your campus. Namely the ones containing laboratories and testing theatres." 

"Remove…as in make them disappear?" They both seemed confused. 

"Remove as in disintegrate, burn, or simply blow up.If the buildings are destroyed, mages will be forced to stick to theory, preventing the cretins of your class from growing into the monsters they're destined to become." 

"Isn't that illegal? And won't people..die?" Magolor twisted the bottom of his cape, having pulled himself free from the hug a bit before. 

"No one will be harmed. As for the legality, I remind you that many just actions are illegal, and many unjust ones are legal. If you are stealthy enough, you may avoid repercussions all together. If any fool should try to prosecute you for doing right, I will simply spirit you away. I live in a hidden place accessible to only those I allow, and my protection stretches across the galaxy. No harm shall come to you under my care." 

"So two buildings? That doesn't seem so bad. They're empty after midnight, too. The only issue is getting the supplies in without getting caught, and figuring out how to make enough in the first place." Marx had sat on the floor, mumbling seemingly to nobody as he thought his way through his plan. 

"Argis powder, felmise roots, and magarn together produce a highly explosive substance that reacts to fire. Many use the ingredients for other, more mundane potions, so purchasing them in bulk should not arouse much suspicion." 

"I thought that combination was easily extinguished?" 

"Yes, in controlled situations, but the flames it creates will spread across even stone. It devours anything in seconds." Boss assuaged Marx's worries easily. They were all details of a job he had accepted almost without question. Magolor, on the other hand, was oddly silent. Magolor was usually much quieter than his companion, in Boss's experience, preferring to save his words for clever quips and curious questions. Normally by now he would be exploding with questions, wondering over every single detail and getting an exact checklist of what to do. This had the potential to become problematic, but there would be nothing to worry about as long as he followed Marx's lead. 

The next morning Marx was up almost immediately, pulling Magolor out of bed with him and into the chilly air of early morning. They had shopping to do, the sooner the better. Ingredients piled up in their shared closet. They went in circles around the buildings, Marx watching the doors to see what locks were used and when people went in and out. Magolor followed behind quietly, seeing no way to escape what was frankly the most boring unethical behavior he'd ever been a part of. It was only when they made it to the eastern half of the campus that he figured out an out. 

"Hey, Marx, I'm gonna go hang out in the library for a while, to uh...see if I can find any extra information that might help us? Yes." 

Marx turned to him and grinned. "Good idea Mags. I've got it covered here." He turned back to the door he had been watching earlier. Magolor turned and walked away to the library. 

Most students spent their days off outside or in town with their friends. The few that didn't were seated around tables in the library, scratching away quietly at homework that was most likely due very soon. Magolor buried himself in the shelves, moving deep into the library without paying attention to where he was going. Soon he found himself in the history section. 

Most of the books in the library of a magic school were of course, dedicated to magic, and this section was no different. The history section took up two massive shelves that stretched up nearly to the second floor. Magolor slowed to a stroll as he read the titles. 

A History of Magical Governmental Relations. No thank you. Head Mages, Years 1200-1300GS. Definitely not. Wands Through the Years. That'll do. 

He pulled the perfectly adequate book from the shelf, ignoring the brief, uncomfortable prickling in the back of his mind. He then made his way towards the back of the library, settling into a wide armchair to read it. He had time to burn while pretending to be helping. Truth was, he couldn't think of anything better to do to help, and Marx's work was boring him to death. Hopefully his random choice of book would yield some fact that turned out to be useful. Maybe crafting a certain wand would allow them to intensify the flames? 

The prickle came again, this time stronger. Fear flooded him, making him freeze with the book in his hands. He squeaked involuntarily, but luckily no one was around to hear. What was so terrifying? Magolor looked around the room. Nothing. He was anxious for no reason at all. He just had to calm down. He forced his breathing to slow and deepen. 

He opened the book to the title page. The fear doubled, making him break into a cold sweat. Something was wrong with him. Or maybe some joker had enchanted his book. Well, he wasn't about to let some jerk get what they wanted from him. He turned to the table of contents, fear spiking the further he went. None of the chapter titles stood out to him in particular, so he turned to a random spot. Dull. A new spot. Boring. A series of illustrations caught his eye for a minute before he turned the page again. 

He was greeted with the sight of one of the silliest wands he'd ever seen. A large, rounded star sat atop a simple rod like a barber's pole. It reminded him of a children's toy. So why couldn't he breathe? 

Not wanting to seem strange, he forced himself to turn the page while he struggled to keep himself from bolting. Then he saw it. 

"The Star Rod was created to combat one of the most powerful and dangerous spirits in all of the galaxy, a spirit known as Nightmare. It functions as a key, creating an inescapable prison when used in conjunction with a Fountain of Dreams." 

Immediately beneath the short description was an ink illustration of an ornate fountain and a familiar sphere. The fear that had been tormenting him disappeared all at once, replaced with his own fear and the feeling that someone, somewhere, was bitterly disappointed in him. Magolor found that he couldn't care less about it in that moment. He had been right. He wasn't being paranoid after all! 

And now Marx was in danger. He was as well, but Marx was- Magolor threw down the book in the chair and ran towards the exit as quickly as he could. 

"Marx! Marx!" Marx was still where he had left him, poorly concealed behind a bush. He turned around at the sound of his voice. Magolor grabbed his hand and began to pull frantically, dragging a bewildered Marx behind him. 

"Magolor, what's going on? Did something happen?" His roommate didn't respond, only repeating the words "come on" over and over. Magolor raced inside the library, back to the chair where he had been sitting and-- 

He stopped short. The book was gone. He let go of Marx's hand, racing back to the shelf where it had been. Nothing, even after a double check. He looked on the carts and even at the books other students held. The book was nowhere to be found. 

"So what was that all about?" Marx had just watched his friend run up and down the library for seemingly no reason after having been pulled there out of nowhere. He was in dire need of answers. 

“It-it’s gone, it was just here! I left it right here and someone took it!” Magolor was a good deal louder than he should’ve been, prompting another student at a nearby table to shush him. He continued more quietly. “There was a book here about wands that had Boss in it! Called him Nightmare, and said he was an evil spirit. That they locked him in a fountain with a magic wand key! He’s bad, Marx, its like they said about the-the poisonings! And arson! We’re being tricked, we have to get these, these things off! Now!” His paws pulled at the chain desperately, then scrabbled at the back of his neck, pulling the back of the chain to the front and unclasping it. “Quick! Get it off!” 

“Put it back on! It was a gift! He isn’t evil, he just looks like someone from a long time ago who was? How do you know that’s not just his species? Or that they’re just really similar?” Marx’s own paw went to the pendant, holding it close to him. 

“Spirits don’t have species! They don’t breed, they just exist and then die!” 

“How do you know! You don’t know anything about spirits except what they told you in the assembly!” A thought flickered into Marx’s head. “And how awfully convenient that the book is just gone when you come in to show it to me! Is this some kind of trick? Or are you just scared of the plan?” 

“We shouldn’t do it. We can’t! We don’t know anything about this guy. What if it’s all a big front and he actually is the guy in the book? No one’s actually named N. Emeritus, that’s just a title they give to professors! I looked it up! And it sounds like Nightmare!” 

“Some people have weird names!” 

“Marx we can’t-” 

“Yes we can, and we’re going to. Or I’m going to, at least. With or without you. Even if he is evil, he’s right. The people here are terrible, and letting them out into the universe with any sort of power would be a mistake. I understand if you’re too scared, but it has to be done.” 

“Marx-” 

But Marx was already walking away. He had brewing to do, after all. Magolor followed close behind, leaving nothing but a very confused eavesdropper in his wake. The walk across the grounds was silent. Maybe I am wrong. After all, Boss was very nice to them, and everything he’d done for them so far had helped them. Maybe things would be okay, like they’ve always been, and he’s just overreacting. But the drawing in that book still nagged at him. Even if it wasn’t him, maybe it was a family member of his? Though Boss did say that his species was strange...maybe part of it was that they all looked the same? The image was in black and white, so maybe the person in the picture was a different color entirely and it just wasn’t shown! Maybe that’s it. 

But things could still go wrong. Someone could be burnt, or they could get caught before they escaped. Or someone could be in the buildings when they burnt them down. Anything could happen. Boss promised they’d be fine, but Boss couldn’t protect them in the real world. And if he didn’t go through with it, Marx would leave without him and the school would force him to confess. They’d both be in trouble. All Magolor could do was try to protect Marx the best he could. 

They had arrived at the dormitory. Magolor put out a hand and gently grasped Marx’s shoulder, stopping him in place. “...Marx?” 

He turned around. “Yeah? Got more nonsense for me?” Marx’s tone was clipped, and the sound of it was a bitter strike to the heart. 

“...Just promise you’ll be careful, okay? Don’t go anywhere I can’t keep you safe.” 

Marx’s expression softened immediately. “Okay.” He seemed to look everywhere but Magolor’s face, seemingly a bit ashamed. "It’s...this is our chance, Mags. Possibly our only one. I don’t want to leave you here alone. And um. Sorry...for getting mad at you again. I know you’re just looking out for me.” Marx opened the door and held it, allowing Magolor inside with him. 

Night fell over the campus. The two walked to the library with full knapsacks, watching from the upper floor to count the people entering and leaving the building. On a school day the later classes ran until nine, then the janitors would arrive shortly afterwards to tidy up the building. Today an off day, so the only people inside were students doing extra work and the occasional staff member. They counted the people who entered and who left, watching as the lights went out in the various rooms. Soon the entire building was completely dark. The pair left the library and stepped inside the building. Marx had planned carefully, giving them a small window of time before the janitorial staff showed up to peel errant magic from the walls. Normally the entire building would be closed by now, but he had placed a small piece of wood in one of the sliding windows, preventing it from sealing properly when closed. Not that it mattered, as whoever had used the room last had evidently left both windows wide open. Marx boosted Magolor into the window, then Magolor pulled Marx up with him. 

The halls were dark as the pair did a sweep to ensure no one was inside. Each unoccupied room received its very own baseball-sized hunk of explosive compound. Then they shimmied out through the same window and to the building immediately across from it, repeating their process. Magolor made sure to remove a cage of partially shaved, long-haired rats from the building with him, releasing them into the woods. 

His own knapsack was empty, but Marx’s still had two rounded shapes weighing down the bottom. He set his pack on the ground, opening the top flap. “Now for the finale!”, he stage-whispered. He pulled the two glass bottles from his pack with a flourish. Each was corked and filled nearly to the top with a clear liquid. 

“You brought water to the arson party?” 

“It’s alcohol, Mags. For, I think they’re called bohboh cocktails? Anyways, they’re basically firebombs! I have a couple of rags and a lighter too. The lady running the general store gave me the weirdest look when I brought this stuff up to her. Ended up having to buy a bucket to throw her off.” 

“You went to the general store? When did you even have the time for that?” 

“While you were buying the ingredients, remember? I wanted to surprise you with something fun! We get to throw ‘em together!” He pulled the corks off of the bottles, hastily stuffing the rags into the holes. He handed one to Magolor, lighting it and then his own. They smoked, then blazed to life. Magolor nearly dropped it. Marx’s grip was firm, his eyes blazing with joy in the orange light. “I’ll get this building, and you can get the other one. Ready?” Magolor nodded and turned, pulling his paw back. We’re really doing this. I’m really doing this. 

“On the count of three!” Marx could barely contain himself. Home. We’ll get to go home. The heat crawled closer to their paws, the light flickering on the walls and creating a glowing halo around each of them. 

“One.” Magolor quietly steeled himself for what was to come. He couldn’t hesitate for even a moment. 

“Two.” Marx inhaled the dark air around him, leaning into a throwing stance as he bounced. 

“Three!” The bottles flew. The sound of shattering glass, then a blaze of orange light that grew steadily until the flames licked over the windowsill. Magolor stood silently and watched until Marx took his hand and led him away from the danger, up onto a nearby hill. It wasn’t far enough to be truly safe, but they wouldn’t be burnt. 

The flames began to dim, then went out completely. The buildings grew dark once more. Silence. 

Twisting blue and violet fire engulfed the entire room. It burst from the window, creating a shockwave of hot air that cooled to a warmth as it blew into their faces. The flames seemed to braid and creep across the brickwork like ivy, weaving into the windows and creating new bursts as they found more of the compound. Great tongues of fire tasted the air, reaching for anything nearby. Finding nothing close, they receded and continued wrapping the building. 

“It doesn’t crackle at all…” The two of them stared wide-eyed at what they had done, one grinning, one completely unreadable. The fire had reached the top of the buildings, each part of it having fattened into a series of large wyrms. Magolor thought that he could make out the shape of a dragon’s head on one. They met at the top of each building. Each wyrm came together, twisting into one massive shape. The dragons’ heads were visible now, rising over the building to their full height. They opened their mouths at the same time. Crackles and crashes, the sound of splintering wood and popping pipes. All of the sounds of the fire came at once, combined into a horrible cacophony. Their mouths snapped shut. They shifted, one’s fire becoming red and blue, the other blue and gold. They arched backwards, then plunged through the roofs of the buildings, crashing through every floor before vanishing. 

Faintly smoking husks were all that remained. Stars could be seen through the windows. One wall tipped inwards at the top and collapsed to the ground, bricks smashing against each other as they fell into a heap. They sat in silence for a while, watching what remained of the scene, before Marx turned to his partner. 

“We did it. We did it!” A wild look seemed to course through his eyes. “The whole place is gone!” Magolor didn’t respond. He stared forward. A crawling feeling roiled in his stomach. He wanted to vomit. 

“Mags?” 

“We shouldn’t have done this.” 

“Yes we should’ve! It was perfect! Beautiful, even!” 

“No, nobody good makes you burn down a building! This doesn’t feel right.” 

“Why did you burn it down then, if you’re so morally opposed to it?” 

“Because you could get hurt if I wasn’t there with you! ...Or leave…” The last part was barely a whisper. “But this isn’t-! We’re going to get in trouble!” 

“Boss will protect us! He said he would!” 

“Boss’ name is probably Nightmare, and we could’ve gotten killed! That dragon thing could’ve eaten us!” 

“He is not Nightmare! We don’t even know if that guy’s real! Boss is real! He’s our friend! He’s been our friend for months and you still don’t trust him? After all he’s done? All he’s taught us, all those things that worked and you still think he’s lying! That’s he’s tricking us into doing his dirty work somehow? What would a fountain spirit want with a couple of students, huh?” 

“Why would a teacher want us to burn down a school? No one does that! Teachers least of all! We’ve done something terrible, Marx! We need to run before someone gets here and catches us! Before he gets here!” 

“No. I’m waiting for Boss.” 

“Marx…..why?” 

“You're leaving and I'm leaving too. Come with me! With us. Boss likes you, even though you don't like him.” 

“I can't! I have family at home and they need me. Your boss' real name is Nightmare and he's crazy! Come with me instead! They can't arrest you for this if you're on Halcandra with me. We can buy ship tickets and get out! They run nonstop so no one could catch us!” 

“You're the one who bought the stuff for the bombs in the first place! You helped me do this every step of the way!” 

“And I was wrong! I was wrong about him, and this, and we need to go before someone shows up!” 

“Too late.” The air itself felt like an aberration. It froze in Magolor’s lungs and overwhelmed his mind, freezing him in place, unable to breathe. A single, icy claw appeared from nothing and lifted him from the ground, wrapped around his middle. Two more claws began to pet his head. A pair of thin arms followed. A grey, sallow face with sharp teeth and glasses appeared, wearing a pointed blue helmet decorated with golden horns and flames. Last to arrive were blue pauldrons holding up a massive, star-spangled cape. A gold pendant hung from his neck. 

“A shame, really. You chose to turn against me instead of coming with your partner in crime. I did warn you not to read that book." Nightmare's voice was smooth and breathy in a way that sent chills up the spine. "Oh well. We cannot have you telling anyone where he has gone.” The claws petting his head slowed, dragging their sharp points across Magolor's head. The threat was clear. Marx was frantic below them. Boss had never looked this way or acted this way before, especially not to them. And he mentioned the book. So Magolor had been right after all, and he hadn’t listened to him. But now...“Please, boss, don't do anything! He won't tell! We can just take him with us!” 

“I am not in the habit of taking the unwilling. They tend to grow resentful. It makes for poor students, you see.” 

“I won't tell anyone! I promise!” Magolor squeaked. He shrank inwards, quivering with fear. 

“A promise, hm? Not a single soul?” The hand paused, claws pointedly digging into his head. “If I do let you go and you still tell someone, I will send something out to retrieve you. You will not like it in the slightest.” 

“I won't tell anyone! Please! I promise!” 

“Very well then.” A cold pair of claws slid across Magolor's throat, dragging something thin with them that met at the back of his neck. There didn't seem to be a clasp of any sort. “This is not to leave your person for any reason. Accidents are not an excuse, as it would take a concerted magical effort to break the chain. If you wish to change your mind, simply kiss the gem in the front. I have great and wonderful plans for you, Magolor. I do hope you reconsider sooner rather than later." Nightmare's hand moved to his ear, but there was no comfort in the action. It was wooden and methodical, a far cry from its usual affection, but Magolor couldn't identify how it had changed since the last time. It felt the same as it had before physically, but something about it made him want to vomit even more. 

Worry and fear pulled at Marx's face. There was so much happening at once that he could barely wrap his mind around it. Everything was wrong, but...he couldn't be, could he? There was no way Boss was really evil. Maybe he was just mad. Marx knew a thing or two about that. Still, it wasn't right. 

"Stop! Stop! Put him down! He didn't do anything!" His protests were louder than he had expected, but he pushed on. "You can't just...do things to people like that!" 

"Oh? You did not object when the broom hatter burned, did you? Do actions only matter when you dislike them?" Nightmare leaned forward, hanging over him. 

"I-" 

"But of course, I will put him down. But you must leave, with or without him. We have no time for sentiment, Marx. They are coming for you both." Shouting reached them over the grass and lights bounced towards the ruined buildings in a way that suggested very fast running. Nightmare turned Magolor around in his hand, tilting him upwards to speak to him directly. "They will imprison you if they catch you. I suggest you do not get caught. My associate will leave a small ship in the woods to the north for you. Go." He set Magolor down. The Halcandran stood there, staring at Marx. 

“Please come.” Marx’s face was desperate, his tone pleading. Magolor nearly considered giving up from the sight of him alone. But he couldn’t will himself to. Marx stood there, looking back. Would he even have time to--a nearby shout denied him even that. A last, longing look, and Magolor raced into the woods. 

Marx started after him on instinct, only to be stopped by a clawed hand curling around him, blocking his path. "He will return to us. It will be all right." Nightmare seemed confident in his statement. Marx stared into the trees. 

"Maybe if we talk more we can convince him. If we had enough time.." 

"Alas, we do not. At least not until we make our escape." Nightmare opened his cape with a flourish, revealing the starscapes within. "Come along now." Marx began to step into the direction of Nightmare's hand. "Into the cape." Nightmare punctuated his words by waving it slightly. Marx turned and stepped hesitantly into the blackness. The cape was clawed close around him, Nightmare curled over his new catch. Marx was in NME now, not his cape, but NME was merely where he held his prizes and possessions. He had worked for this for a long while. Only receiving half came as a disappointment, but he would retrieve the other part of the set soon enough. 

There were lights outside the woods. Low voices were disappearing up the hill. Magolor was grateful for his lack of feet and his thick clothing as he darted across the lawns towards the dorms. Once inside his room he pulled his trunk from the closet and began to pull things into it. Clothing and books, leftover potion ingredients and stationery, all went haphazardly into the trunk. After a moment's hesitation, he began to pile Marx's things in too. The thunk of the lid seemed too loud in the darkness. The room felt empty and dead, unlived in, as if the sudden absence had drained all the energy from the room. There was a cold pit in the bottom of Magolor's chest. 

A few finger-traced lines across the trunk lifted it smoothly into the air. It followed Magolor out the door and down the stairs, then back into the woods. No one was looking, as anyone awake was paying attention to the wreckage. 

North, wasn't it? He rushed through the woods, his trunk barely managing to avoid the trees. Ten minutes of breathless sprinting rewarded him with a clearing containing a small, saucer-shaped ship made of a blue-grey metal. It was small and simple, so boring it was almost imperceptible amongst the trees. Magolor's investigation showed it had a full tank of fuel and even had a hatch on the back for storage. There was just one concern. 

He had no idea how to fly it. Most people relied on the public travel system to move between planets. As a result, most people didn't even know how to start one. His family had a private ship, but he had never been allowed to fly it. He had to learn, and quickly. 

His trunk flew into the storage compartment at his bidding. Magolor had the good sense to make sure the hatch was sealed before he hopped into the driver's seat. The space where he had expected dozens of buttons to be held only a few large ones and a steering wheel. The rest of the console was occupied by a small screen. 

After a few moments of deliberation he chose to press a large green button. A schick was heard and he yelled as his ship collapsed on the ground. Evidently that button controlled the landing gear. The large yellow one lifted him gently into the air, the hum of thrusters only faintly audible in the cockpit. The screen lit up blue, loading a menu. He gripped the wheel, tilting it in all directions and feeling the ship follow. A trigger below the left side drove his ship dangerously near the ground. The right one lifted him far too quickly, leaving his stomach behind. The ship stopped short as he regathered his nerves and intestines, steeling himself for the final ascent. 

Magolor took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger. The ship broke over the treeline and sped into the night, then beyond it.


	5. Extreme Makeover: Home Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for emetophobes: there's a bit in a dream sequence

There’s a space between sleeping and waking, where reality and the subconscious blur together and interact in strange ways. Magolor’s mind was insistent on keeping him there, trapped in a half-sleeping limbo state. He had set the trajectory for Halcandra, flying in the same direction for what felt like hours. The monotony was driving him towards sleep, but he couldn’t seem to relax enough to get there. Space was beautiful, peaceful and calm even as it blurred outside his windows. Now would be the perfect time to take a nice, relaxing nap and get his head back on straight after the mess on Enchamest-no. 

He couldn’t let himself. Not knowing who would inevitably appear after he fell asleep. Not while driving, either, he told himself, purposefully ignoring the autopilot button he had left on for the past few hours. Logically he knew he’d have to sleep eventually. There was no way to avoid it for more than a few days and he’d need to keep his mind sharp for--what exactly was he planning to do? What would he tell his family? 

He’d lie, yes, that’s what he’d do. His family never paid attention anyways. He’d just claim he was home for a holiday break they celebrated on their planet. But that wouldn’t explain the ship, unless he saved up and bought one with his own money--but he’d never received enough during his stay. So perhaps he had picked up a part time job in town and saved every bit, and got a used ship on a discount from...not a teacher or a faculty member, they would mention it and--no, wait, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t go back. Oh, heavens, he couldn’t return to school. How would he explain this? Maybe he could leave for “school” in a couple of weeks and go exploring the galaxy, then come home once the year completed? He could make up friends and coworkers and avoid the usual family vacation haunts on other planets. And he got the ship from a coworker, who doesn’t exist, so they can’t talk to them. He’d just have to pray they never got in contact with the apothecary. They’d probably like that...wouldn’t they… 

He couldn’t see. Fire crackled and popped all around him, the heat too much to bear, but he couldn’t move away from it. Screams echoed in the distance, rising into deafening, soul-rending wails before gurgling into nothing. A nearby rumbling and clatter of bricks. The smell of burning meat. Searing heat began to lick up his back. He knew he was on fire, he could see it in his mind, but his eyes refused to open. The heat shot through his cloak and became a pain that dominated all his senses. His mouth opened to scream, but released only ashes. Ash, coating his mouth and spilling from his throat, pushing up from his stomach and lungs. His throat filled until he couldn’t breathe and it was raw from his ash-muffled choking. The fire had spread around his back, cutting its way up to his neck. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, he was going to die-- 

He felt himself being moved upwards, away from the heat. The fire on his back was gently patted away. The ash disappeared and his choking ceased immediately. He was safe, pressed comfortably against soft, warm fabric. Hands rubbed his ears soothingly. “It’s over. You’re safe. Trust me, and everything will be okay.” Magolor only pushed himself further into the safety of the fabric. Of course he would. Of course he was. Everything was okay again. 

Then there was nothing but blackness. A cold, empty void stretched out in front of him. Cold cut at the lingering warmth, ebbing it away in seconds. He was alone again. A flash of purple receded into the distance. “Wait!” He shouted again and again, running as quickly as he could towards where he had seen it last. 

Magolor awoke, face wet and a feeling of repulsive wrongness ballooning in his throat. He had chased after Nightmare in his dream, an act that was directly contrary to how he felt. His hand went to his necklace before he consciously stopped himself, staring down at where it lay. It glinted innocently in the starlight. Did he secretly…? No, of course not. It was just a dream. He rubbed the moisture from his eyes and looked out of the front window. 

He had arrived at Halcandra. It was surrounded. 

Marx, meanwhile, had settled himself into the comfiest chair of his life. It was a plush, incredibly soft armchair that fit precisely to his shape. Around him were the trappings of a rich man's study. The entire room was decorated in violet and blue. Ebony wood-paneled walls were accented with gold moulding. More gold wrought itself around the legs of chairs and tables. The dominant feature of the room was an enormous, luxurious-looking desk and an equally enormous chair. It was in front of this desk that Marx had positioned himself, looking up at it hopefully from time to time for signs of Nightmare. He had been waiting for around twenty minutes now, his thoughts wandering to places he firmly dragged them away from. He loved Magolor, he really did (not that he'd ever say so, of course), but he was being irrational. He'd just have to convince him later. Maybe Nightmare would let him go see him from time to time. Everything would be just fine. Just. Fine. 

His train of thought dissipated as the room flashed black. When the light returned, so had Nightmare. Marx jumped to his feet excitedly. "Boss! You're back!" Nightmare looked down to where Marx was standing. So he stayed here the entire time. A good sign. 

"Hello again, dear. Are you ready for your tour?" He slid silently to the exit, opening the oversized door with a sweep of his cloak. Marx followed eagerly, excited to see what lay outside. Nightmare personally escorted him around the entire facility, showing him the most impressive parts. The hallways were a spartan steel and concrete tile, the floors so thick that his footsteps sounded strange. The rooms connected to the dull hallways were delightfully interesting to him. Entire halls were dedicated to laboratories that pursued both magic and science. They contained creatures Marx had never seen in his life and seemingly infinite supplies. Dozens of mages bowed to Nightmare when he entered, giving Marx a pleasant smile and a wave. "The best and the brightest that I could find. People who will understand you. I doubt any have matched your drive or ambition, however." 

Another area boasted massive platoons of warriors quartered in equally enormous barracks. An armoury stuffed to the corners with weapons of all varieties was nearby. "Not all are suited for intelligent work, but many can be taught to protect those who are." Another area was filled with cages of monsters. They quieted and bent themselves to the ground submissively as Nightmare approached, raising their eyes only to peek at the newcomer walking beside their master. "These are my own creations. Others are the work of our research teams. Some are sold to defend those who need it, others remain here to defend us from those who would stop our research." 

The rest of the building was a mishmash of facilities, some areas containing multiple factories, others containing apartments and common areas. Shopping districts and training rooms, reference libraries and storerooms full of magic supplies. Everything was lit with the same dim fluorescent light, digital clocks appearing every 30 feet or so. There wasn’t a single window. After a few hours the pair had finally returned to where they started, their path through the giant circular building complete. Nightmare glided a short distance past the door to his study, stopping at a small grey door that seemed out of place. 

“And this, my dear,” he paused, “is yours. Right next to my own. As close as we can be without violating your privacy." Marx's apartment was small, but well-furnished in a way that resembled a fancier version of his old dorm room. A large, ornate bunk bed with thick, downy mattresses and comforters, a wide, heavy desk already supplied with paper, and a plush armchair in the corner. It was perfect. It felt like home. It was missing something. Marx brushed off the feeling and turned to Nightmare, a huge, only slightly painted-on grin on his face. "It's perfect. Thank you." 

"Of course. I have one more gift for you, under your pillow. I must be off to attend to some business. I will leave you to settle in." With that Nightmare disappeared from the hall, gliding away like the wind. 

Marx shut the door and looked beneath the pillow of the bottom bunk, where he had slept for months before. There was nothing there. Under the pillow of the top bunk, however, was a red and blue jester hat, lined with soft white fur and patterned with triangles and circles. It fit him perfectly. He crawled into bed. After a few minutes, he crawled back down and into the bottom bunk, pulling the heavy comforter over himself. After a period of frustrated, sleepless wiggling, he pulled the second pillow out from beneath himself and hugged it. Eventually he drifted off to sleep. 

Magolor stared at his home from the front window of his ship. The battleships released smaller fighters from their bays that flew to the surface. There were so many ships that the armada resembled a swarm of ants. Would he have to sneak by? Would he be able to? A few of the larger ships had visible logos on their sides, a shape that seemed familiar but that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He crept closer in his ship, looking for gaps in the swarm where he could safely pass without being noticed. He needed to get down there. 

His ship computer beeped harshly. "Halt! This is the captain general of the NME Merger Armada. Declare yourself and your cargo." Well, there went that plan. 

"M-Magolor. And…my stuff? Is my cargo." He trembled silently, praying he wouldn't be shot out of the stars. 

"Magolor? I see. You have been authorized to land. Continue." The screen flickered back to the map path without so much as a goodbye. He hesitated, uncertain if it was a trick. But then again, why would a military commander be interested in tricking a stranger? He flew slowly past the armada without any issues. 

Returning to a place with gravity proved to be a terrifying endeavor. He struggled with the controls, trying to get the angle just right. He felt he would crash at any moment. Eventually he slowed, flying parallel with the surface and trying to determine which way was home. 

He was used to staring out the window and watching the neighborhoods go by overhead, but things had become much more difficult to identify. Dark storm clouds concealed the city until he got further down. The buildings had changed and new ones had been built, changing the shape of cities he once found familiar. The new buildings were tall and dark, windowless and imposing. The logo on the ships was the same logo on the sides of buildings and on banners. It was everywhere. Billboard advertisements and electronic signage displayed products marked with the symbol and strange loyalistic messages. 

At last he found his way to a familiar street, then a familiar drive, and at last his family's manor. He parked his ship outside, the landing a little bumpy but upright nonetheless. Things weren't quite the same as he'd left them. Soldiers from the strange military stood guard outside of the gates. A bitter, unpleasant smell seemed to be everywhere, even inside his house. His parents seemed haggard, but smiled at his return nonetheless. 

The inside of his home wasn’t immune to the change either. Unopened products bearing the logo spilled from closets and sat stacked against the wall. His parents paid no mind to them, his mother asking him about his schoolwork and his new ship as she guided him to sit at the kitchen island. His father chopped vegetables at a nearby counter. 

Magolor was careful with his answers. His story about the ship went through without a hitch or even an inkling of doubt from his mother. His parents were overjoyed to hear that he had gone far in his studies, his dad turning from his cooking to watch his child show off spells for them. The questions about his social life weren’t nearly as easy to answer. He danced around the subject as well as he could. 

After several minutes of small talk he couldn’t hold it in any longer. "Mom, what's happened? Who are all these soldiers?" The smile on his mother's face grew thin and strained, her eyes misting over despite her best attempts to stop them. 

"Holy Nightmare Enterprises. They've put themselves in charge of Halcandra and are working to turn it into "an economic powerhouse” as they call it. Giving people jobs and such, exporting things, offering.." she gestured to the stacks of boxes, “...products.” She took a pad and pen in hand and quickly scratched something down before showing the pad to Magolor. 

_They can hear us. Don’t say anything negative about NME. Big trouble._

She pointed to a small, puck-shaped device sitting alone on an end-table he had never seen in the house before. The sides seemed to be covered in speaker fabric, while the top held only a small red light that burned like a glare. “It’s nice, don’t you think? We always have guards outside, making sure we’re safe all night, and the subscription is much easier than keeping a payroll! And all we have to do to go shopping is call for the shopbot and it’ll deliver things right to our house!” She quirked her brow meaningfully at Magolor. 

“Uh, yeah, it sounds nice. Definitely. A lot easier than walking to the store, I bet.” The words left his mouth weakly. This was some of the weirdest acting he’d ever had to do. “We don’t even have the old stores anymore, that’s how convenient it is! They’re all NME promotional storefronts and NME restaurants now! Drove out all the business in town in a matter of weeks!” Her tone remained chipper but her face had dropped all pretense. The exhaustion in her eyes was obvious again as she carefully implied what she meant. 

"But what about Landia?" 

"We have no idea what happened to him, and frankly who cares! Hah hah!" 

Dinner conversation went on in the same way. His family spoke carefully, avoiding anything politically charged or negative, a sharp change from their old dinnertime debates. His sister was on another planet pursuing specialized mage education, but they wouldn’t say which planet she was on, smothering his innocent question with a heap of praise for her and another meaningful look for him. Eventually they lapsed into silence, slowly working through their food. 

His old bed waited for him upstairs, cold and made neatly in a way that showed his father had been in his room since he left. Magolor pulled his cloak off and crawled into bed, staring out the window. The sky was dark and filled with dark clouds. The lights of new skyscrapers glowed through the smog. A hum seemed to permeate the very essence of his home, as if something were moving eternally deep below the ground. He rolled over to stare at the wall. The sound of insects was completely absent. 

Dawn seemed to barely come, dark, overcast, and ugly. Now that the day was here Magolor could see that what had appeared to be dark storm clouds were in fact heavy smoke. That explained the unfamiliar smell when he had exited his ship. He retrieved a small breakfast from the kitchen cabinets and walked down the driveway. The eyes of the guards followed him as he walked past them. They were strangely tall, dressed in riot gear and not resembling any species he had ever seen. 

The streets outside were completely devoid of life. He walked for blocks without seeing or hearing a single person, every house dark and silent. Magolor walked towards the only sound he could hear. The strange roaring he followed led to the site of the park he had visited as a child. Mechanical arms the height of his family’s house worked with time-lapse efficiency, assembling i-beams into a massive steel skeleton. There was no sign of playground equipment anywhere. He continued on, the pit in the center of his chest beginning to gnaw at him once more. 

A few more blocks of walking uncovered the first signs of life he had seen all day. The old shopping district had been completely converted, the old cobbles and sidewalks paved over with slick, perfectly even black asphalt that stretched in every direction. What had once been a grid of buildings had been converted into a labyrinthine series of circles, each loop holding a series of nearly identical storefronts, each selling products from specific category of the extensive NME catalog. Each storefront had a single shopkeeper in it, grinning broadly at no one as they bustled around, adjusting and readjusting items in a spotless store. 

That is, until they caught sight of him. “Hello there!” The shopkeepers around him caught on to his presence one by one, each turning to face him. “Hello there!” “Hello there!” They all waved in the exact same way. “Hello there! Come and view what we have for sale!” “Our prices have been lowered!” “Today is green tag Marasday!” They all spoke with an identical cadence. 

Magolor raised his paws in alarm. “I uh, sorry, but I, don’t have any money?” It was true. Enchamest used a unique currency that wasn’t commonly used off-planet and he hadn’t had time to convert it back before he left. His money was useless here. 

The shopkeepers’ grins grew harder in a way that sent a small chill up Magolor’s back. “No money? We can fix that!” One shopkeeper moved back to the register, reaching beneath the counter. Within moments another guard had arrived on the scene. “What seems to be the problem.” Their tone was completely flat. 

The shopkeep who had gone to the counter replied with a chipper tone. “This one has no money!” 

“I see.” They turned to Magolor, expression flatly serious. “You have one chance to follow voluntarily. Resistance will result in the use of force and a point to your citizen noncompliance record.” They turned and walked a few steps to the right, then looked over their shoulder at him expectantly. After a few moments he caught on and moved towards the guard. Seemingly satisfied, they continued to walk, Magolor following behind them anxiously. 

He was lead to a large building billowing smoke from multiple smokestacks atop it. A loud mechanical hum emanated from the building. The guard took him to the door, opening it before shoving Magolor roughly inside the building. Once his eyes adjusted to the unpleasantly harsh fluorescent lighting he found himself in a room with a small desk and chair. A kindly-looking but clearly bored alien woman sat at the desk. Upon noticing Magolor she gave him the same blank grin the shopkeepers had. 

“Hello there! Don’t worry, employment only takes a few seconds. Let’s get started, shall we?” 

Magolor stared at her in confusion. “Wait, no one said anything about a job. A guard took me here after I said I didn’t have any money for this planet. I think there’s a mixup, I’ll just be going…” He began to back towards the door. 

“There’s no mixup, I assure you, especially if you don’t have any money. Employment is mandatory, dear. Now come back and sit down.” 

“M-mandatory? Since when?” 

“Since NME fixed this place! Come along now, we have business to do! Can’t be wasting time, it’s inefficient! Sit.” The force in her tone prompted Magolor to take a seat in the chair in front of her desk, folding his hands in front of him awkwardly. “Thank you very much.” Her thank you was too sharp to be sincere. Magolor waited patiently while she pulled up the correct documents on her computer. “Now, then. I’ll need your name. Full name, not personal name.” 

“Magolor.” She typed it in, fingers darting quickly across the keys. Then she stopped. Her brow furrowed. She typed the name again, eyes scanning quickly over the new words on the screen. She frowned involuntarily, then forced it back up into a shaky smile as she turned to face Magolor. 

“Our mistake, sir. Members of the unrestricted class are never supposed to be accosted by guards. We apologize for the inconvenience.” 

“Unrestricted class? What’s that?” 

Her brow shot back upwards, polite smile forgotten completely in favor of confusion. “You mean you don’t know? But you’re a member…” 

“I just got here last night, sir.” She grinned genuinely at the title. “I don’t know what’s going on. The entire planet’s changed and I’ve only been gone for six months…” 

“I appreciate you calling me sir, sir, but I’m lower than you socially now. Being an unrestricted means you’re free to do as you please across all NME planets without guard interference or checkpoint stops. Typically unrestricted status is reserved for high level NME personnel and is only given at the request of Nightmare himself.” 

Magolor stopped. “Who himself?” He had heard wrong. He heard wrong. He knew he was wrong here. 

“Nightmare, the founder of NME. You know him, right?” 

“No.” 

“You…don’t know him?” 

“I-I do, I just, didn’t expect..” Magolor trailed off. 

“Didn’t expect to be given such privilege? How sweet. Please go home to Sirs Maralor and Mapoplor, please.” 

“Uh, uhm, bye.” He turned and nearly ran out the door, racing down the streets in a panic. Of course it was him. How did that lady know where he lives? The logo looked just like him, how did he not figure it out? Nightmare had taken his best friend and now he’d taken his entire planet. He had to--he could--what could he do? He couldn't get Marx back without beating Nightmare or convincing him, and he couldn't do either of those things without going up to Nightmare himself. He couldn't save his planet, he couldn't save his parents, and he couldn't save his friend. There was nothing he could do. He ran out of breath, stopping to rest against the corner of another featureless building. Worn out and thoroughly dejected, he trudged the rest of the way home. 

The door opened before he could reach for the knob, his mother pulling him inside and up the stairs to the master bedroom. It was, thankfully, free of shopbots. She whispered anyway. "Magolor! Where have you been? I've been worried sick don't you know it's dangerous out there? They could pick you up and send you to a factory job! You need to stay at home unless it's with one of us." 

"Mom! I'm an adult. And they already tried to do that, but the lady at the factory told me I’m unrestricted so they can’t take me anyways.” 

Her eyes widened. “You’re what? How? It’s almost impossible to get!” But he had it, and now he knew why. He couldn’t tell her. If his family knew who he had been talking with they’d never forgive him. 

“I’m not sure. The guy in the battleship over the planet let me through too when I told him my name. Maybe there’s a glitch in the system?” Lying came a little too easily this time. It made the pit in his chest writhe with guilt. 

“At least we have some good luck in this mess. The factories would chew you up and spit you out. Some of our neighbors have already disappeared. Remember the -ert kid?” 

“The one who used to try and spit on me on the slide?” 

“He’s gone. His father hasn’t seen him in at least three weeks. He got drafted into factory work and only came home the first few times. After that he stopped coming back, but his mother keeps saying he’s on the roof of the apartments at night, how weird is that? I think the stress and grief have gotten to her.” 

“Didn’t...come back?” 

She made a face. “He’s dead, Mago. They force you to work for hours without breaks or food. Some people...don't go home. They won't even release the bodies to their families. Heaven knows what they're doing with them. Even mentioning the dead in earshot of a shopbot puts marks on your record." Mara grew quiet. Magolor stared at her. 

"And nobody's tried to stop them?" 

"Everyone tried. Nobody can, and now people are too tired to put up a fight. No groups can gather outside of shopping and no one's allowed to travel long distances without approval. There's nothing we can do. You have to leave while you still can, Mago. It was nice of you to visit us, but I'd rather you got back out into space and away from here before they correct the glitch and you're stuck the same way we are." 

"I just got home!" 

"Magolor, quiet!" Her glove darted to his mouth, muffling his outburst. "We can't have the shopbot hearing." The hand moved to his cheek. "Your father and I have already discussed your escape. You being unrestricted will make it much safer for you to leave the planet than we anticipated." 

"I'm not leaving, I'm staying here to help. I can fix this!" 

"You can't fix the entire planet, Mago. No one can." 

"But-" 

"No." Her tone was firm, allowing no room for argument. Magolor knew from experience that he wouldn't be able to do anything to change her mind. "You have to get out before things close off completely. It's the only way for you to be safe." 

"But what about you? Why can't you come?" 

"The statuses don't extend to family members, and we're 'valued customers'. If we disappear they'll come looking for all of us, no matter where we go. If it's just you, someone with barely any record of being here, someone whose movements won’t be recorded, there's less of a chance that they'll notice. Please, Mago." 

This was important to her, he could tell. His family was intense about protecting their children. "The future and the past" as his grandfather had put it. They were obsessed with maintaining lineage and preserving family heirlooms. Even his dad had caught the bug from his mother when he married in. He couldn’t say no. 

His dad, coincidentally, had just knocked on the doorframe. "Time for dinner, kids. Kid. And beloved wife. I'm still not used to you two spending so much time at school." He chuckled quietly, gesturing for them to follow him to the dining room. Mara nudged him playfully, watching Magolor in her peripheral vision. Tonight could normal for him, maybe. They could manage that. A good last memory. Just in case. 

So they had a normal, calm dinner with a debate about political parties that no longer existed, followed by a deliberately casual suggestion to play a board game that just happened to be Magolor's favorite. Once he had won (despite their best attempts to challenge him), they watched a movie, all curled together safely on the couch which Magolor in the middle. By the end of the night they had worn themselves out completely. To Magolor's surprise they followed him into his room to say goodnight, kissing his forehead before they left. He stared at the ceiling in the dark. That was strange, but nice. It felt like back when he was a kid. This might (a part of him whispered would) be the last time he ever slept in his room. 

He was in the dark void again, utterly alone. He turned around over and over again, struggling to find anything to look at. His yelling made no sound at all. He tried to summon flames, a light, anything, but nothing he did made any difference at all. Flashes of Halcandra flickered across his vision so quickly he could barely parse them. Black smog. A familiar playground. Thousands of workers in a production line. His mother laughing. Marx smiling. He turned blindly, trying to keep the images in his view. Then they all stopped. Magolor found himself suddenly unable to move. A hand rose from the floor, lifting him with it. It curled around him gently, encasing him in the same comforting warmth from before. When it opened again Marx was there, right in front of him. He floated in the void, just out of reach, looking at Magolor like he was the only thing in the universe. “Come home, willya? I miss you.” He disappeared in a blink, replaced with a slowly spinning Halcandra, covered in black smog. A voice came from somewhere above him. “Would you like to be in charge? You could fix everything. You could save everyone. I got it specially for you. Just come home and we can set all of this right.” 

He came to with a gasp. The morning had come, as far as he could tell. His sheets were damp with sweat, the entire room feeling like a sauna. Outside was foggier than usual, mist rolling along the ground in a way he hadn't seen in years. When had the weather gotten so tropical? He hardly wanted to dress in his thick clothes, but today was the day. Empty NME boxes had been put outside his door, clearly meant for him. They were quickly filled with all the little things he had neglected to bring with him when he left for Enchamest. All the things he had assumed would be there upon his return, in what had once been the safest place he knew. His favorite books filled two boxes on their own. His bedsheets and pillows filled another. He pulled clothes, artwork and childhood toys from his closet. Stuffed animals and little trinkets piled together in the final box. He taped them firmly shut and put them by the door as he worked. Once he had emptied his room he levitated the stack of boxes and left, eyes sweeping over his room one more time. He hoped it wouldn't be the last. His parents were already awake. He could hear them talking to each other quietly in their room. The sound of his door shutting behind him silenced them, and his father's head poked out. "Good morning, lazybones. Guess we're not the only ones who slept late today." His smile was easy and familiar, but his eyes were just as tired as his wife's. 

"Got all your stuff ready?" 

"Mm-hm." He suddenly felt very small, staring at the carpet as his face began to prickle. His eyes moved back up to his parents, brimming with tears. Mara reached for the back of her neck, unclasping a small metal pendant and pressing it into Magolor’s hand. It was a vortex with a star in the center, the symbol of his family. He had never seen her without it, even when he tugged at it as a baby. His hands pushed it back, silently pleading, but she refused, clasping her hands behind her with a joking grin. He gave up, tucking it into his cloak pocket. "Everything will be okay, sweetheart. We'll still be here when you get back." His father took him by the hand and began to lead him out to their home's hangar. 

The ship stood before him, gleaming. The Starcutter had been in his family for generations, each eldest child caring for it religiously. It was older than any of them and would, in all likelihood, outlast them all. 

"Wasn't this supposed to be Nori's?" His older sister used to spend hours inside the ship, learning about the controls, the machinery, and the systems from their mother. It was supposed to be given to her after she grew up and established a home large enough to house it. 

"She'll have it after this is all over. Until then you're in charge of keeping it and our family's treasures out of NME's hands. This is a very important responsibility, Magolor. You're the keeper of all of our family history." 

"A-all of it? But what if something happens?" 

"Nothing will happen. Everything will be fine." After the last few days Magolor wasn't so sure of that, but it wasn't like he was going to tell them. They thought he was still good, and that mattered more than telling them the truth about what he had done. Admitting that all of this was his fault. The last part fell into the hole in his chest. It yawned wider. His mother continued. “Your school stuff is still in little ship, right? We can load it into the Starcutter’s rear bay. Do you know how to move it?” 

“I flew it here?” 

“My baby, already up and flying spaceships! Who taught you how to fly?” His parents’ faces were beaming with pride. 

“I uh, taught myself? Just sorta, got in and did it.” 

“My baby is a genius who’s up and flying spaceships!” Her voice was genuinely excited. Maralor loved spaceships and anything to do with them. It overjoyed her to know that her child had a natural talent in something she adored. Maybe she should have been teaching him about the Starcutter as well. 

Soon everything had been loaded into the ship. Items Magolor hadn’t seen in years had been pulled from storage and put into the bay. The massive hangar door opened, exposing the Starcutter to what little light was left in the world. Maralor showed Magolor the controls, directing him in rolling the ship out onto the drive. The control panel lacked a navigational screen, but one had been given its own stand on the dashboard. What the control panel did have was buttons. Dozens and dozens of buttons and switches in all sizes. Some seemed to control the ship itself, some were wired to weapons, and others were simple things like the lights onboard. Some were labeled and others bore only the rectangular light spots where labels had once been. Maralor showed him how to lift the mast, which steering trigger was which, and everything he needed to know in a demonstration he wished he had been given the first time. 

Soon there was nothing else left to do. It was time to go. They stood together in the cockpit of the ship, the air tense. “Are you sure you can’t come with me?” 

“They’d follow. It has to be this way. We’ll still be here when you get back.” Or they won’t be. _I have to tell them, I have to be honest…_

He struggled to say it. This could be his last chance to admit it, to be honest with family before he left them to an unknown fate. 

But they had been so happy with him. 

“I love you.” “We love you too, Magolor.” The little family wrapped around itself in a massive hug that seemed to last too long and not long enough. Eventually his parents pulled away and walked off of the ship. He was going to leave again. He was alone. Magolor shook off the thought. Instead he pulled his mother’s necklace from his pocket and put it around his own neck. Somehow it made him feel safer. 

The second ascent was much easier than the first, even in a much larger ship. The Starcutter flew forward and upwards gracefully, exiting the planet’s gravity without so much as a bump. The smaller ships of the orbiting armada seemed to shift nervously in their positions. 

“Halt. This is the captain general of the NME Merger Armada. Declare yourself and your cargo.” 

This time he was ready. “Magolor. My stuff.” 

“Of course, sir. You’re cleared to exit.” 

The oars of the great ship pushed it forward, the clear blue in stark contrast the deep greys and dull blacks of the armada. The sail inflated, catching the wind of the stars. Magolor disappeared into space once more.


	6. Initiation

Morning seemed to come too soon. Marx woke up groggy, his eyes feeling thick. Was it morning? Did they have that here? How long was he asleep? Nothing in his room gave any indication. Nightmare had, somehow, forgotten a clock when decorating, but he didn't mind the oversight too much. Instead he detached himself from the pillow he was hugging and crawled out of bed, readjusting his hat and tie. A quick walk outside allowed him to check the time in one of the many clocks in the hallway. It was, as he suspected, mid-morning. Marx kept walking, stomach twinging with hunger. Where was the cafeteria again? He remembered having seen it yesterday, but the directions eluded him. If he was really lost, he could just walk loops around the floors to find it.  


It was after he passed the same faintly buzzing light that he began to get frustrated. The base had no signage and no indication of what various rooms were. He was sure it was on this floor, so where was it? Maybe he had missed something while walking. His stomach was certainly missing the meal he was trying to get. Strangely enough all of the people were missing as well. The hallways were empty. He could hear the hum of people talking and working inside the rooms, but no one seemed to be leaving them or entering, just like last night.  


His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening. Someone was leaving. A tired-looking mage slouched out of the door, eyes half-shut and feet quietly shuffling. He was fluffy, covered entirely in soft, long brown fur that was carefully trimmed and combed so his large grey eyes and tiny snout were visible. He wore a thick, soft green cloak with the hood down. The mage shut the door behind him, then, spotting Marx, suppressed his yawn and waved with a small smile.  


"Hello there! I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you the newbie?" His voice was small and chipper, his tone direct and cheerful.  


"Uh, yeah. I'm Marx." Marx was a bit taken aback by the other mage's positivity. Since when did people his age look happy to see him? He'd have to keep an eye on this one.  


"Nice to meet you! I'm Malbo! I didn't get to meet you yesterday, so I'm glad I caught you today! It's always so nice to have new people around here!" He paused to yawn. "I was just headed down to the kitchens to get something to eat. And some coffee." He yawned again. "Wanna come?"  


"I was actually just looking for the cafeteria or something."  


"Eh, don't bother. The cafeteria food isn't that good, and mages get their own dining hall and kitchen, so there's no point eating with the soldiers unless you've got a friend to meet. Follow me! I'll show you where our food is." Malbo gestured for Marx to follow, trotting down the hall with Marx in tow. They made a detour through a door that led to a small side hallway Marx hadn't thought to take and arrived at a large tiled room filled with stainless steel counters and kitchenware. Massive, pristine shelves and huge refrigerators lined one wall, the ingredients on the shelves mostly unused. Cookbooks were placed neatly on small stands sitting on islands sitting on multiple cooking stations. Marx and Malbo were the only two people in the room.  


"Does anyone even use this place?" There was barely any sign that anyone had ever used the equipment. It looked more like a store display than a real kitchen.  


"Not really. We mostly just eat instant stuff, but upper management insists on keeping the kitchen stocked so we don't get 'malnourished', as they put it. Like we aren't already pulling all nighters and forgetting to eat!" Malbo giggled to himself while opening a bag of coffee grounds left at a coffee-making station.  


"So we can use anything in here?"  


"Yep! Anything in here is for the mages to use as long as they're living and working onsite. It's already paid for and you don't need to ask."  


Marx took that as a signal to move forward, investigating the shelves. They held everything from basic ingredients to fancy ones, spices, mixes, dozens of varieties of noodles, canned produce and fresh produce. It held practically every common ingredient he knew. The fridges and freezers were no different, filled with meat, dairy, and even frozen desserts. "And nobody eats this stuff? Even though there's so much here?"  


"Pretty much. We don't really have time to cook while working." Malbo seemed a bit sheepish. Marx left the storage area to flip through a cookbook, Malbo watching with curiosity. He turned the pages rapidly, judging each recipe in a split second before he came to something that seemed to satisfy him. A quick scan of the page and he was back off to the shelves, pulling boxes and containers down (sometimes with levitation) and digging items out of the fridge. Returning to the island, he dug around in the cabinets below until he found a large bowl, a measuring cup, and a frying pan. Malbo, now carrying a full mug of pale coffee, crept closer to watch. "Are you actually cooking?"  


"Might as well try. It can't be that different from potion making, right?" He was measuring things out and dumping them into the bowl, a whisk whirling in the mix of its own accord.  


"I suppose, but it's still different and kinda hard, since you have to eat it afterwards. You don’t really have to worry about the taste when you make potions, y’know? Everyone expects it to taste bad by default.” He leaned against the counter, watching Marx stir things together and carefully level off his spices.  


“I dunno. I don’t remember any of my potions ever tasting bad. Guess I just haven’t made the Wet Sock Potion yet.” Marx chuckled to himself as he worked, lighting up the stove and melting butter in it. After a few minutes he began to pour a smooth, pale batter into the pan, retrieving a large plate from the cabinets afterward. He watched his rising creation attentively, flipping it exactly when the book told him to. Delicious smells wafted into the air, Malbo coming around the counter to get closer. Another mage blearily opened the door, then, smelling food, followed suit. They talked quietly to Malbo, their sleepy voice soon perking up. Marx paid them no mind, at least not consciously. Flips became flourishes, his hands deftly catching his creations on a plate with a split second of airtime between. This was fun, and it smelled good to boot.  


Soon the plate was filled with a foot-high stack of golden, thick pancakes. Seeing the pile seemed to break a spell in Marx, all of his batter gone. He turned sheepishly back to Malbo. Both mages behind him had eyes only for the pancakes. "This is way more than I can eat. Do you uh. Want to try them?"  


"Yes." They were pulling plates from the cabinets before he could blink. Each eagerly accepted the pancakes offered to them. Now for the moment of truth.  


Both of their faces lit up. "This is delicious! Did you say this was the first time you cooked?"  


"His first time? Are you sure?" They didn't even bother with syrup, piling pancake into their mouths at the speed of light. Marx beamed, trying his own creation. They were right, it was delicious. He pulled another onto his own plate, suddenly twice as interested in eating as before. The others did the same.  


The other mage was the first to finish, making quiet conversation with Malbo and asking Marx polite questions. This sort of a situation was unfamiliar to him, but it felt...comfortable. He was a part of this place, and these people liked him and what he did.  


After they were done Malbo did the dishes (it was only fair, he said, since Marx did all the cooking) and led them back to the lab. He introduced Marx to the room of working mages, and to Marx’s surprise, he was given a welcome just as warm as the one Malbo had given him. And that was before Malbo mentioned that Marx could cook. After he mentioned it the interest in him went up tenfold. The mages brought him from station to station, showing him their work and seeming delighted to have someone around who actually wanted to know about it. He was the center of attention for what felt like hours, everyone eager to talk his nonexistent ears off and tell him everything they could. Not that Marx minded. This was more people who wanted to be around him than he had seen in his entire life.  


A tugging sensation from his necklace pulled him (and everyone else) out of their conversation. His amulet had risen into the air and was pointed out to the side, a tingle in the back of his mind revealing to him exactly what was going on. “Sorry folks, but I’ve gotta get going. Boss wants me.”  


“Nightmare wants you? You get to talk with him directly? We rarely ever get a chance with him anymore! You’re lucky, Marx.” The look on the others’ faces confirmed it. He was special. So special that he got alone time with the most powerful wizard here.  


“Yeah, I suppose I am.” Marx smiled, faking a bit of sheepishness. “I’ll see you later, okay? I really wanna finish up our conversation on backwave magical radiation.” The others waved him out the door, and he hurried down the hallways in the direction the necklace urged him to go. He arrived at the enormous door of the study, which silently blew open to allow him in.  


Nightmare sat at his desk, his characteristic grin growing wider when Marx looked up at him. “There you are. Are you ready for today’s private lesson?” Marx’s enthusiastic confirmation was enough for Nightmare to extend a thin, pointed hand, beckoning for him to step onto it. He was then deposited into a comfy spot in the robes that draped over the seat of the enormous chair they were now both in. A book appeared beside him. “I will be attending to some administrative business today, unfortunately, so instead of direct lessons I have prepared some reading for you to do. Today will be a quiet one.”  


Marx buried a tiny pang of disappointment, choosing to settle himself into the robes beneath him and open his book. The subject matter turned out to be past iterations of magical theory, a subject that seemed to be chosen exactly according to his interests. He snuggled further into the soft fabric unconsciously as he read. They passed a couple of hours with only the sounds of turning pages and a pen scratching paper. The fireplace crackled gently, warming the room enough to make Marx a tiny bit drowsy. Periodically a skeletal hand would descend from above and toy seemingly idly with the fabric of his hat and the top of his head.  


Eventually he finished the book, the hum and focus of interesting ideas fading out as he stared around the room lazily. This place really was comfortable. After a few moments of staring at the ceiling molding his eyes shifted up to Nightmare himself. The wizard was seemingly engrossed in his work, but the moment Marx looked up at him he chuckled quietly. “Yes?”  


Marx looked away, a little embarrassed to be caught. Silently, he remustered his ability to speak. "Uh, what are you working on? I know it's um. Administrative. But what is it?"  


"Small detail work for the company. Keeping a corporation is the most efficient way to acquire and keep resources, as well as the best way to attract the necessary workers. It mainly serves as a front for my goals."  


"What goals?" Boss had never told him anything like this before. Nightmare paused, seemingly deep in thought, before stating it simply.  


"For things to be right, my dear protegé. For the universe to work as it must." His hand descended to Marx's head once more, a gesture meant to seem warm.  


"Can I help?" Marx stifled a yawn, widening his eyes and blinking to try and wake himself up. Nightmare chuckled warmly. "Perhaps later. You appear to be somewhat drowsy. Would you like me to take you back to your room?"  


"...Can I stay here for a while instead?" Everything was so perfectly comfortable right now. Why would he want to leave such a nice spot?  


"Of course." The fabric seemed to rise beneath Marx, forming a comfortable nest shape. He drifted off to the sound of quiet pen scratching, paws curled neatly beneath his face. 

Marx came to tucked into his own bed, the last wisps of his dream fading away into nothingness when he opened his eyes. He was oddly triumphant, he knew that much, but he couldn’t recall what had made him that way. He crawled a bit reluctantly from his bed and got ready for the day. After a quick breakfast (and another successfully completed recipe) he made his way down to the labs.  
To his surprise the mages had abandoned their stations, all gathered in the center of the room. They perked up when he entered the room, the quiet chatter ceasing.  


"Good, you're here! Come on, let's go!"  


"Go where? What's going on?"  


Malbo smiled warmly, eyes bright with excitement. "We realized you probably haven't had a devotional ritual yet like the rest of us had when we got here! Everyone's already gotten things ready for your welcome party! Come on!"  


"I uh. Okay…" Marx's face flushed a bit. A...party? Just for showing up? "What exactly is a devotional ritual?"  


"It's a little thing we do here for new mages! It's mostly symbolic, but doing it means you're devoted to serving Nightmare and all he represents, and makes you officially one of us! Afterwards we usually just snack and hang out in the casting theatre. Come on, are you going to be late to your own ritual? The soda's going to go flat." Malbo giggled a little, strolling over to take Marx by the paw and guide him out of the room, the rest of the crowd following behind them.  


The casting theatre was a large, dimly candle-lit room with a smooth wooden plank floor that had seen a lot of wear. One end had a stage that rose half a foot from the floor, a lectern front and center. The ceiling stretched up into an arched dome, the very top hidden in darkness. The entire room hearkened back to a time long before the creation of the base. Marx noticed small golden runes delicately painted onto the edges of walls and corners.  


In the center of the room a complex series of circles, polygons, stars, and almost calligraphic scrollwork were drawn carefully in raised lines of chalk dust. One portion of the outer circle was open,a path lined with inwardly-pointed lines led to a small inner circle, large enough for a single person to stand in. The corners of the room were full of card tables filled with snacks.  
Mages took their places around the circle, leaving a space at the break for Marx to walk through. He was directed into the center, standing in the smaller inner circle apprehensively. Soon the throng was breached in front of him, in the space opposite the circle's entrance. Standing just outside the line was a mage who seemed a bit older than the rest. She wore neat, simple black robes and a pointy hat. Her face was lined somberly. Upon meeting Marx's eyes her expression melted into something soft and open. "Hello there, newbie. I'm Sheridan. Are you ready?" Marx nodded. "Good." She raised her voice to speak to the rest of the crowd. "Start it up, kids! He's ready!"  


Everyone began to hum together. Individual pitches raised and lowered, meeting in a strange harmony with the other voices in a way that made Marx's ears buzz. After a few moments of stumbling into the right key, the chanting began. He couldn't understand a word, but his heart throbbed strangely at the sound. Sheridan began to speak, voice cutting easily over the low chants.  


"Marx. Do you wish to permit Nightmare into your life?" Her voice was low and smooth, every word enunciated firmly and heavily. Each syllable stamped its importance into the air.  


"I already have." He touched his necklace, holding it gently. Sheridan smiled.  


"Do you permit him into your dreams and your mind, to shape you into the form that best suits you?"  


Like a teaching thing? "Yes." The necklace grew warm in his paw.  


"Will you devote yourself to his service in all aspects of your life? Will you keep your actions to those that will assist him?"  


"...Yes. Of course." His heart was pounding in his chest. The room had darkened, the design around him glowing a bright magenta. The necklace was warmer than his paw. A strange smell drifted through the air that he couldn't quite place.  


"And you will follow him wherever he chooses to go?"  


"Ye-" His voice cracked and his face burned. "Yes." Of course he would, of course! Why would he ever want to stop following him? Nightmare was the best person ever to happen to him. No one could compare, and there was definitely no one else who cared about him the way Boss did. The chanting grew louder, rumbling through the room. Sheridan's eye took on a strange glint, though it had gone half-lidded as she spoke.  


"Do you hold love in your heart for Nightmare?"  


Marx stopped. Did he? Nightmare had visited him every night for months. Nightmare had been patient with him, kind, gentle. Nightmare listened to him. Nightmare taught him helped him, took the time to understand him when (almost) no one else would. How couldn't he love someone so wonderful and kind? His heart swelled inside him, forcing the "Yes!" from his throat more loudly than anyone in the room had been the entire ritual. Of course he loved Nightmare. Of course. Sheridan stared at him with an eye full of pride.  


A blackness swirled around Marx, rising into the air as it curled around him. It began to take form, stars dotting the rapidly purpling twister as fabric began to take form.  


"He is welcomed, and from this point until time's cease shall remain in the hands of the great Nightmare, weaver of dreams."  


One mage murmured to another that the illusion was incredibly accurate this time.  


"I am flattered by your devotion to me and my proper portrayal, and am warmed that you have given my protegé the warm welcome he deserves. Good work."  


Gasps bled into the sound of thumping as every mage in the room sent themselves to their knees (or as close as they could get without them). Every eye in the room stared at him with adoration. Nightmare chuckled. "Well then, I believe this ritual of yours has concluded. Shall we begin the party?"  


The rest of the day was spent on the theatre, mages enjoying snacks and listening attentively as Nightmare spoke about ancient events and his current ideas. He draped himself over the stage,head stretching towards the ceiling. Fabric pooled everywhere and mages pooled around it. Marx was sitting in the fabric as he was used to, listening with rapt attention. Eventually more mages grew bold and began to touch, then to sit in the fabric. Each one who joined was granted a small pat on the head, apparently jarring enough to tip a few mages over despite its gentleness. Time seemed to disappear completely, the mages slowly beginning to nod off in spite of themselves serving as the only indication of its passing. Each mage who fell asleep disappeared, clearing the space on the blanket until each and every one of them had been transported to bed. Nightmare himself disappeared silently, returning to his other work the second his plot had been completed. A little positive interaction went a long way.  


Nightmare’s strange and sudden visit had become the talk of the lab once the mages returned to their work. Nightmare had never shown up for an initiation before. Some of them had the cadence of the illusory Nightmare’s words memorized by now. Clearly Marx’s own ritual was something special to their leader, so Marx would obviously be as well. Malbo began to clear a station near his own for when Marx began his duties.  


For now his friend was elsewhere. Marx had been woken up by his necklace and called to the study, where Nightmare waited for him with three mages he hadn’t seen before. “Good morning, Marx. I have brought my finest mages here for you to meet with. I believe their skill levels will match your own more closely than the common mages you have been associating with thus far.” Each mage stepped forward to introduce themselves.  


The first was a tall, fit, broad woman with large glittering green compound eyes framed in perfect dark makeup. Her skin was a pale, nearly translucent blue, and her blue-black hair was intricately woven into a complex pattern of braids that disappeared into her perfectly-fitting hat. Her velvet robes had straight, perfect creases and fit her precisely. Her face showed nothing at all as she extended a perfectly manicured hand with black, sharp nails. “It’s lovely to meet you. I am Maladaae.”  


The second was very, very eager to meet him. They scuttled right up, six black (Hands? Feet? He couldn’t tell) limbs emerging from a thick mass of shaggy pale fur. A bug-like face poked from their fluff, sharp tusks only barely obstructing Marx’s uncomfortably close view of dozens of colorful eyes, all rolling independently and pointing in different directions. Some of them were slightly audible as they moved to look at him. The person(?) giggled to themselves. “Hello hello new one! I am called the Watcher. Youuuuu are called Marx, I know. The king has told us of you! A way around potions, an assistant perhaps, perhaps? No, of course, you must have other duties from the king as well! But when you are not doing that please come and visit! There is much to do! Many things to take apart, and put together, and burn to the ground! A friend, a friend!” A hand (for now) reached for his own, shook it with disturbing amounts of vigor. The Watcher returned to their space next to Maladaae.  


The third mage didn’t look much like a mage at all. He wore a long white coat that had only a baggy hood to differentiate it from a lab coat. His hair was overgrown and messy, his eyes nearly invisible behind his bangs and enormous wire glasses. His shirt was stained in a colorful, unknown substance and poked sloppily from where it had come untucked. He stepped forward stiffly, offering nothing more than his outstretched hand and a flat “Hello. I am Grey.”  


Marx wasn’t sure he liked any of these people, but they were people Nightmare picked, so they had to be good, right? At least secretly. Nightmare spoke again once the introductions were over. “Marx, you are going to be shadowing these three on their missions and assisting them in their work for a while until you have become acquainted fully with the methods of this place. Do get along with each other.”  


His anxious glance was met with one overjoyed multi-gaze and two very cold stares. 


	7. Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magolor does so many stupid things

Magolor, meanwhile, was floating through space, trying desperately to figure out what to do. He was supposed to go forward, but to where? Where was he supposed to hide all this stuff? Where was he supposed to hide himself? There was nowhere for him to go. Memories of his dream rose unbidden. Maybe his brain had come up with it on its own, but even if he had, the idea was too tempting not to think about. Wouldn’t it be easier? Wouldn’t it be safer? He’d get to see Marx again. If his dream was really a message from Nightmare, he’d be able to offer himself in exchange for his planet. It seemed too good to be true, but if there was a chance… no. He had to be lying. Maybe he’d hand himself over just to be punished. What would stop Nightmare from simply destroying the planet once he had Magolor?...What’s to stop Nightmare from simply destroying the planet now? 

Landia. Of course. His parents said the guardian was missing, but if he could just find him, Landia could get rid of the armies. It was strange that they hadn’t been chased off already, but it was worth a shot. His paws tugged at the controls, turning the ship back around to head towards Halcandra. He hadn’t gone that far. A little trip back wouldn’t be much of an issue. 

The orbiting militia didn’t bother to hail him, allowing him to slip past to the surface. The ship sped through the upper atmosphere, his high vantage point allowing him to keep an eye out for the volcano that marked Landia’s territory. Miles of identical dwellings and bland, dark skyscrapers gave way to empty, flat desert. Eventually its tall, thin caldera appeared on the horizon, surrounded by mountains and growing larger by the moment. The Starcutter slowed, then glided downwards to the base of the volcano, creeping slowly over the scene. 

Dark streaks stained the dust as far as Magolor could see. It splattered over rocks and curled unnaturally around the terrain. Blackened armor and unidentifiable remains littered the area. Weapons were torn to pieces or lying a short distance from what was left of their wielders. A dusty red lump sat in the center of the battlefield, surrounded by armor and ash. Magolor’s heart dropped. His mind froze, but his paws pushed the wheel forward, crawling steadily towards what he didn’t want to see. 

A dragon lay alone in the dust, single head bare. Another lay a short distance away. One was flopped over a rock, and the very last had its teeth sunk gum-deep into the armor of an ash pile. 

Landia was dead, and the Master Crown was nowhere to be found. Nightmare’s forces had taken it. There was nothing to be done. He stared blankly at the corpses, horror wisping into his chest and coiling inside his throat. His eyes stung as a clear sheet pulled itself over reality. Their guardian was said to be unkillable, the indomitable force defending them from invaders. Landia had survived for so long that their oldest historical accounts spoke of him as an adult dragon. 

But this would all be fine, of course. He’d just have to...to… 

For the first time in his life, Magolor had no plan. He silently turned the ship around and flew back into the stars. Once Halcandra was out of sight he stopped the ship in the middle of space and simply sat. His face was wet, the stars visible from the cockpit window blurring and shaking. 

Once his shivers had stopped he slowly rose from his chair, dragging himself towards the ship kitchen. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Maybe it would help. A weary paw tugged the refrigerator open, harsh yellow light flooding the dark kitchen. He knew his family kept rations tucked into the cabinets and fridge for emergencies. The Lor was sturdier than their physical home, and it was there they hid whenever a monsoon got too out of hand. 

He was greeted with a wall of plastic containers. The entire fridge was stuffed with cooked food, ranging from stew to fried meat. The portions were enormous, some of them placed into individual bags inside their container. It was hours worth of simultaneously-cooked dishes, the sort of thing he only saw during the dark season’s holidays when his father got excited. The view in front of him began to blur again. He carefully selected a meat-stuffed pastry he had requested again and again as a kid, pulling off the lid and tucking it into the ship microwave. He stared mindlessly into the yellow light as it cooked, not noticing when the pastries became slightly burnt. Once the timer had gone off he pulled them out and sat on the floor, back to the cabinets. It took him nearly half an hour to get through just two of them. Midway through the third he stopped. Something had just made a dull thud against the side of the ship, gently shaking the floor. After a few seconds of silence he continued eating. Probably nothing, just a small asteroid or some other little piece of debris. 

A loud thud made the ship shudder. His head shot up, the plate went down, and he floated to the cockpit as quickly as he could. He’d need to get the ship somewhere safer. A hole in the hull could be a dangerous problem, especially considering the current contents of his ship. 

He was greeted with streaks of pulsing darkness wrapped across his cockpit window. It thickened and gathered as he watched, forming something like a mass of loose spaghetti. It shook and pressed itself flat against the glass, occasionally peeling itself back to slap itself against the glass again. The ship shook with every attempt to breach it, but the structure held. The entity rested against the front of the glass, seemingly watching the lone occupant. Then a single red eye opened against the glass, and Magolor knew for certain. He had to get this thing off of his ship. 

It slammed almost pleadingly against the glass, flattening itself against the whole surface of the ship. He couldn’t see outside whatsoever. There was only the entity, whose eye darted around, looking at the inside of the ship. It wanted in, Magolor realized. It really, really wanted in. Thankfully, it couldn’t get in, at least not while they were in space. The ship was airtight until it landed. But he wouldn’t be able to land until he got this thing off. 

He backed slowly away from the monster, floating into the kitchen and grabbing...the best he could find was a broom. That was the only thing long enough. He pulled a knife from the cabinet for good measure, though he doubted either would do much against this thing. He re-entered the cockpit, brandishing the broom and raising the knife. “G-get out of here. You’re not wanted. Go, please?” 

It simply stared at him. Magolor swallowed and moved closer, holding the broom like a spear. He thrust it against the glass, right where the eye was. “Leave! I need to go! Get out!” It strained towards him. Magolor hit the glass a few more times. The entity reared back and slammed against the glass, rattling everything in the ship cacophonously. Stars were revealed again as the blackness slipped away. 

He stood there a few minutes more, broom at the ready in case it came back to attack his ship again. After seeing no sign of it anywhere, he hesitantly set the broom down and slid into the captain's chair, intending to fly his ship somewhere safer. Somewhere with a little less of whatever that was. Unfortunately for him, whatever that was happened to be lying in wait just out of view. Oars hummed to life and shuddered painfully under a sudden impact. He slammed the ship's controls forward, trying to escape. Another impact knocked the ship to the side, sending him sliding out of the chair and into the wall. The lights flickered around him ominously. The ship was silent and dark for a fraction of a second, and in that very same fraction came the final strike. His lights flickered wildly as the Starcutter spun out of control. A klaxon attempted to screech a warning between the power fluctuations, but Magolor was more concerned with holding on for dear life. He clutched at the stem of the captain’s chair with both paws, the force of the ship’s wild spinning threatening to drag him away from it at any second. His eyes stayed firmly shut, his chest squeezed by the pressure. 

And then everything stopped. More to the point, it stopped because the entire ship had impacted rather loudly and painfully with something unknown, jarring Magolor from his spot at last and sending him bumping into the ceiling. The rough landing had silenced the klaxon with an enormous boom of its own. Magolor stayed still, aching to his core. The ship remained just as still and silent as he was. 

After a few minutes he became vaguely aware of the sound of birdsong outside the ship. It was strange for birds to be that loud. At least he knew he was on a habitable planet (or at least one habitable for birds). He’d get up soon and check over the ship. As soon as he stopped hurting. For now he was content to lie on the lovely, inviting, cold, hard floor. Such a nice floor, supporting his horribly dizzy head like that. Keep it up, floor. 

His internal conversation with the floor was interrupted by a new sound. Little irregular thumps pattered along the hull of the ship. It was followed by the sound of uncomfortably contorted metal being moved into an old position it could no longer hold as easily. Little pats along the floors got closer and closer. Someone was coming. Magolor tried in vain to roll himself over, to sit up, anything, but he was too dizzy to move. The footsteps came to a stop a short distance away from him. He prepared whatever mental faculties he had available to speak. 

“Poyo?” Magolor cracked an eye open, turning his head just enough to see a round, pink stranger with enormous pink feet and quite possibly the cutest face he had seen in his life. They stepped closer, a tiny pink paw touching his cheek softly. “Poyo?” 

“Urghh...hi?” 

“Haiiiii!” The little stranger returned the greeting before shoving a red object directly into Magolor’s face. His nose filled with an unfamiliar smell and he tried to turn away. They shoved it into his face again and again, insisting with a small burst of “poyos”. 

“What do you want?” 

“Poyyyyy!” The little one’s face puffed with determination, shoving the object into his face again. Magolor hesitantly took a small bite, a tiny piece of slightly gritty flesh and smooth skin coming off. The taste was, well it certainly existed. The much more notable effect was the way his dizziness seemed to lessen. The strange fruit was shoved into his face once more with an encouraging poyo. He took a larger bite this time, actually bothering to swallow. Hopefully whatever this was wouldn’t come back to bite him later. 

A few more bites of maxim tomato later and he was able to sit up to finish it, getting a proper look at the little creature in front of him. "Um. Thank you. For that." He sat silently, not sure how to continue for a moment. "...What's your name?" 

"Kaabi!!!" "Kaabi" jumped in the air, wriggling their little arms in joy. They seemed very excited to be saying their own name. 

"Kaabi? Well, nice to meet you. I'm Magolor. Do you know where we are?" Kaabi's response was to grab his paw and tug. After a moment of hesitation Magolor followed them, allowing himself to be led outside. The Lor was tilted at an awkward angle, having torn a massive ditch into the field before tipping to one side. The floor inside was uneven, and the corner of the outer door dug into the earth when it was fully opened. Green grass surrounded them to the horizon, the bright blue sky revealing itself as he stepped out of the shadow of the ship. Warm sunlight and fresh breezes hit his face, bringing the smell of fresh vegetation and a bit of sea air. 

"Sure chose a pretty place to crash…" 

"Kirby! There you are!" 

"Whoah, it's a space ship! Where's it from?" A pair of twins came into view, one a boy, the other a girl. The girl raced towards Kirby, giving the little orb a concerned once-over before turning to Magolor with a suspicious glare. "Who are you?" 

"Who are you? And who's Kirby?" 

"This is Kirby!" She pointed at his companion. 

"They said their name was Kaabi." 

"Kirby's a baby. They can't say their name right yet. Or most words. And I asked you first!" 

"I'm Magolor, and I just managed to crash an ancient ship. Happy now?" 

Her expression didn't budge. "Marginally. I'm Fumu. Why'd you crash your ship?" 

"Something attacked me out in space. I'm not sure what. Or if it followed me." He stared anxiously at his ship, floating slowly in a circle around it. The mast was snapped and a few pieces of the oars were missing, but the hull seemed to be completely intact. Most importantly, the creature was nowhere to be found. "Seems like it left, but the ship...mom's gonna kill me." The last part was muttered quietly to himself. If his mother found out what he had done to their family's ship...and the heirlooms. Oh no. 

Magolor sprinted back inside the ship, praying to whoever was kind. Some of the items he had taken with him were centuries-old antiques, things that had only escaped museum display because the family who had owned them still existed. If they were broken he'd never hear the end of it. He nearly threw open the door to the rear bay, sprinting to the shelves where the boxes had been secured. 

A quick glance assuaged most of his fears. The boxes were still nestled safely in their shelves, straps and a magic barrier keeping them firmly in place. Only one box had escaped, lying sideways on the floor. He approached it fearfully. What could it be? Maybe it was the box of centuries-old plates depicting the pioneers of the Halcandran writing system, or maybe it was the box of defunct, magically worn down wands from ancient magic users. Hopefully it was just books, or something else that could take a beating. He flipped the box onto its bottom carefully, listening for any clanking or clattering. Nothing. He removed the tape holding it shut, peeling it back and lifting a flap to peek inside. 

It was nothing more than his stuffed animals. They had been on the floor by the shelf when he had lifted off. Relieved laughter bubbled through the room as he tucked it back into place. Everything was fine. He wasn’t in trouble. As much trouble, anyways. 

"Hey, what's all this racket you've been makin' in my kingdom?" 

“Dedede! Leave him alone! He just got in an accident!” Magolor turned to see an indignant Fumu and her indifferent brother standing behind a massive blue bird and a lavender snail with a terrible mustache. 

“I’m not leaving him alone until I know what’s goin’ on here! You!” Dedede thrust a fat, gloved finger in Magolor’s direction. “What are you doin’ trespasserin’ on my kingdom?! I oughta have you thrown in the slammer!” A peek to the left of the penguin’s fat face revealed a rather large hammer that Magolor was sure this...king(?) could wield easily. There was no room for error. 

So he demurely bowed his head, clasping his paws together in a show of humility. “I apologize, your highness. My ship was attacked by a strange creature. I lost control and crashed here. I do not wish to inconvenience you, and I’ll be out of your way as soon as possible.” 

“Hmmph. Bout time someone treated me with a little respect around here! Tell ya what, pipsqueak. You can stick around as long as you like, long as you teach the rest a’dem Cappies how to behave too.” 

“Thank you, your highness.” That was easy. Was sucking up really all he had to do to stay stay here? Either this guy had a big ego or nobody liked him at all. Maybe both. Probably both. 

Fumu’s brother snorted. “Suck-up”, he muttered to himself. Fumu nudged him roughly, giving him a look. 

"By the way, what's in all a'them boxes? You ain't hiding anything from the king, are ya?" 

"They're just family heirlooms, sire. My planet was…taken over, and I had to escape with the family's treasures." 

Dedede's face twisted into childish greed."Treasure? What treasure?" 

Magolor realized his mistake. "Only to my family, sire, and to history. Nothing of value, just old plates and wands!" It did nothing to deter him. Dedede lurched forward, throwing his weight around in an effort to intimidate Magolor into moving out of the way. 

"Lemme see!" He pushed past Magolor, going for the boxes. His glove collided hard with the magical barrier. "What's this weird stuff in the way?" 

"It's a magical barrier designed to keep it safe. The boxes are full of delicate, ancient things, like pottery and old writings. If it weren't for the barrier everything here would be destroyed." Magolor carefully nudged the box of stuffed animals out of sight. 

"Well, take it down! You're all done crashing! I want to see!" 

Oh, thank goodness he had an excuse. "I would, sire, but it takes a few hours to dismantle the barrier. It's very strong." 

"I'll show you strong!" Dedede reached behind him, hefting his hammer over his head. It came down on the barrier before Magolor could think to stop him. A loud, hollow noise echoed through the bay, like the ringing of an enormous bell. Dedede shook, forced backwards by the reverberations. Undeterred, he gave it a second try, only to meet the same result. He scowled. “Hey, why isn’t this thing breaking?” 

“It’s very strong, your majesty. It was created to withstand the force of a ship crashing. I’m afraid I’m the only person who can get it down, and I would need a significant amount of time to do so.” Magolor spoke slowly, ears lowered and backing away when Dedede turned to him. Maybe if he was polite enough he’d avoid being smashed to death. His thudding heart was convinced otherwise. 

“Fine! If you won’t show me, I’ll get someone else to!” With that, he stormed from the ship, his snail companion sticking his tongue out at Magolor as he followed. Fumu crossed her arms. 

“Great. Now he’s going to order another monster from NME, just like he always does.” She huffed. “Better go find out what he’s doing this time. Come on, Kirby.” 

“NME…is here?” 

“Huh?” Fumu turned to see Magolor staring at her, horrified. He remained there for only a second before sprinting past her to the front of the ship. She ran to follow, Kirby toddling happily after her. 

Magolor was standing in front of the pilot’s chair, tugging desperately at the controls. “Come on, get up! Up, please…” 

“Hey! What are you doing! We’re still on the ship! And your ship is broken! It isn’t safe for you to be flying!” Fumu pulled at his paws, prying him from the controls and holding them tightly. 

“Nightmare is here! I have to leave!” He struggled, trying and failing to pull his paws from her grip. This kid was strong. Fumu raised her brows at the name. 

“Nightmare…? Nightmare isn’t here. He just sells monsters to Dedede! Nightmare’s never been in Dreamland!” 

“But if he knows I’m here he’ll come and get me! And then I’ll be stuck, and I won’t be able to save my planet, and he’ll keep destroying everything, and my parents will be trapped forever, and Marx will-Marx will--” His struggling intensified. He had to get out of here. 

Fumu shoved him backwards, forcing him into the pilot’s chair. “Calm down! Nightmare doesn’t know you’re here, and panicking wouldn’t fix anything if he did.” Her grip on him was firm, keeping him in the chair. His frantic movements eventually slowed, his breathing evening out as he came to terms with the fact that yes, he was physically weaker than a middle schooler. Shortly afterward he accepted that his ship was too damaged to fly. He had seen the mast, he knew this, but he had been too panicked in the moment to remember that. Fumu slowly pulled away, leaving him in the chair. "Now, what's going on?" 

Magolor stared for a moment. Fumu looked back, eyes soft and concerned, but still as piercing as before. The kids here are weird, he thought. She acted a lot older than she was, but the full truth of what had happened would still be too heavy for any kid. So he simplified things. "Nightmare took over my planet. I escaped with my family's heirlooms, but everyone is still trapped and I need to find out how to save them. And...he tricked my friend and me, but when I found out about who he really was, he didn't listen and now Nightmare has him...captive." Of course, his friend hadn't acted like he was captive, but Nightmare had to have done something to make him do that. He had to be controlled, or threatened somehow without his knowledge, and he couldn't go painting him in a bad light until he knew what happened. 

"I see." An unfamiliar voice. Magolor's head snapped to the left. A pair of bright yellow eyes burned into him behind a steel mask. A dark blue cape was tucked tightly around them. Magolor turned to Fumu, who seemed unalarmed. 

"Who is that?" 

"Meta Knight. Don't worry, they do that a lot. You'll get used to it." 

"Metal Knight?" 

"Just Meta." The knight's voice was low and soothing, reminding him of another for an uncomfortable moment. "And your own?" 

"Magolor, mage? Just Magolor." 

"I see. And you are a refugee of N.M.E?" 

"...Yes?" 

"And you hold no loyalties to him or any under him?" 

"He's stolen my planet, my parents, and my best friend. I want him...gone." 

Meta nodded. "As do I." He left the room without so much as a goodbye. 

"That was weird." 

"He's a bit dramatic at times. Really all the time, if you ask me. My brother thinks he does it so people will think he's cool, but it makes him look silly sometimes." 

"More scary than cool." Magolor looked at the space where the knight had been only moments ago. How had he moved like that? 

"You won't think so after you've known him for a bit. Meta's come a long way since the coup." 

"Wait, coup? What did he do?" 

"He thought nobody on Popstar worked hard enough so he tried to take over Dreamland to force us to work, I guess? It wasn't a well thought-out plan. Kirby stopped him, anyways, and he lives in the castle now, so it's fine." Fumu shrugged nonchalantly. 

"Kirby? The baby?" 

"The very powerful baby. You'll see!" 

"Poyo!" Kirby toddled up at the sound of their name, looking up at Fumu and Magolor with an innocent smile. "Poy?" Their paw tugged the edge of Magolor's cloak gently. 

"Yes? What is it?" Magolor asked. Kirby responded by tugging again, then taking Magolor's paw and leading him off of the chair and back outside. Fumu followed, both curious to see what Kirby was up to and determined to keep them in sight. 

Once they were out of the ship Kirby released Magolor’s hand and ran happily ahead, checking behind themselves once every few minutes to see if he was still following. A lighthouse loomed over them nearby, but Kirby was taking them away from it, down the hill and onto a worn dirt path with only the faintest hint that it had ever been used by a wheeled vehicle. The sunlight was warm and the air was humming with cicadas and melodic birdsong. The humidity made Magolor’s cloak a damp tomb. He pulled his collar back from his face every few minutes, trying to vent the sweaty air from his clothes. Long things were fine in a dry heat, but in a wet one they were miserable. He could feel his fur twisting into wet, disgusting spikes. 

Nevertheless, he carried on, following Kirby all the way down the path until they reached a small town. Fumu laughed. “Kirby! You took him all this way just to show him Cappy Town?” Kirby made an adorable sound and reattached themselves to his paw, pulling him from building to building. Fumu helpfully explained what Kirby couldn’t. “That’s Mr.Curio’s! He’s an archaeologist who studies Dreamland’s ancient history! And there’s the bookstore, that’s the convenience store, oh, and there’s Kawasaki’s restaurant! Kirby loves that place, but I wouldn’t advise going there unless you can’t taste.” She continued on, Magolor listening and nodding politely. Various cappies stopped to talk to them, all curious to see the visitor. They had nearly reached the other end of town when they were interrupted by the sound of pounding hooves. 

Racing towards them was a six-legged creature with all the forward power of a raging moose. It had an enormous, bulging nose and tiny eyes, feelers extending from the top of its head like antlers. They waved madly, flickering like a dozen snakes’ tongues, before they all pointed themselves directly at Magolor. The creature howled like a ship’s bow breaking before hurling itself at him at full tilt. 

Magolor hurled himself in the other direction, like any person with common sense would, taking Fumu and Kirby with him. Cappies ran for any shelter available, peeking out the windows to see what was happening. The creature rounded on them, having nearly missed them the first time. It stared him down for no more than a second before charging forward once more, hitting full speed within a few strides. He had no time to think about it. 

The creature crashed against an enormous, thick magical shield. Its feelers pressed desperately against the surface of the shield before the creature slammed against it again. Magolor could feel the shield give a bit. This thing was enormous, and powerful to boot. “Kids! G-get back. Go hide. I’ll hold it.” Fumu didn’t hesitate to comply, pulling Kirby back and running with them behind a nearby building. Much to Fumu’s surprise, the creature didn’t follow Kirby, instead whining and slamming against Magolor’s shield again. 

It was nearly through. There wasn’t much left to the shield, and they both knew it. Magolor raised a shaking hand, preparing as well as he could. The creature reared, slamming its head through the barrier. Magolor leapt back, then threw his hand forward, releasing an enormous stream of frosty blue. It fluttered in dozens of directions, wriggling through the air and trying to escape the heat. “Wrong spell, wrong spell!” He turned to make a run for it before he was plowed over. 

To his surprise, the creature didn’t follow. Its feelers were dragging it in a dozen directions at once, desperately chasing the shapes around it. “It’s attracted to...magic?” He could’ve sworn it had been trying to murder him, not chase...wait. Duh. Magolor prepared another volley, launching it with more precision this time. The creature whirled around the street, nearly tipping itself over in its effort to chase the magic. Another shot sent it leaping into the air, yowling in pain as its feelers forced it to jump. Magolor kept them coming, summoning anything he could think of to keep the creature moving. He would fire a distraction one way, then launch magical missiles or roll bombs beneath its feet. They proved somewhat effective, leaving the creature burnt and bleeding. 

It kept working, at least for a while. Doing all this moving around in his long clothing was taking its toll on him. The blasts were getting weaker and weaker. The feelers were spending less time chasing the blasts, slowly reconvening on the largest, closest source of magic in the area. The creature pawed the ground, working itself back into a fervour before plowing forward. Magolor forced his hand back up, preparing to push out another blast with everything he had. 

He pulled the shot just in time. Someone had crashed into the beast in front of him, staggering it. That same someone was now behind him, pulling him away from the creature. “You have made a mighty effort. Distraction is useless without sufficient offense.” They muttered in his ear. “Can you fire again?” The voice was distinctive and low. Meta Knight. 

“I think so. I just need a moment.” 

“Do so at Kirby when I give the word.” 

“Kirby’s a baby!” He was not going to shoot a baby. 

“Trust me.” 

“Bu-” Meta’s paws were gone, a blue blur jumping back into the action. He had been dragged several feet back, far enough from the creature that Meta could hold it back. At Meta’s call, Kirby ran into the fray. Meta then pulled back, leaving a very small child alone in front of a giant monster. Really? Magolor pulled everything he had left up to the surface. That’s a child! They’ll die! 

“Fire!” Magolor let it all loose at once, knocking himself over with the force of it. He looked forward to see an enormous, curling dragon hurtling towards the beast--and Kirby, running straight for it. They planted their feet in the ground and inhaled, a mighty gust of wind pulling the flaming serpent straight into their mouth. A flash of light, and their head was ringed with a flaming circlet, their expression determined. 

Kirby was fury in action. They bounced forward fearlessly, driving back the creature with fireballs and gusts of flame. The creature’s tendrils were trained on Kirby now, pulling it forward even as it tried to escape. When escape proved useless, it began to charge, struggling on burnt, legs and a sore body. The fight lasted mere minutes. With a single, intense blast of flame, the beast was reduced to ash. Once the deed was done, Kirby dropped their ability, a harmless child once more. Magolor stared at the ash pile, then up at Meta Knight, still monitoring the scene from above. Cappies began to creep out of their hiding places to inspect the aftermath. Children poked at the ashes with a stick. 

Kirby stepped up to him, tilting their head in questioning concern. “Poy?” Magolor hadn’t bothered to get out of the dirt since his fall. 

“I’m fine, it’s okay. Just need to rest a bit. Did a little too much.” He sat up in the road and patted Kirby gently on the head. “Uh...good job? I guess I underestimated you.” But then, who could’ve estimated this correctly? Kids don’t usually eat magic. 

Tires screeched just meters away. Magolor found himself lifted by the collar and rotated until he was face to face with a very angry king. “You ruined my monster! I oughta clobber you for your insol-insolrebelry!” Magolor curled in on himself. “I didn’t mean to get in your way, I promise, I just--well it was attacking, and I had to do something because it was going to hurt everyone, and uh--sorry, sorry--your Highness! Really, I didn’t mean to cause any trouble!” 

“You caused enough trouble, barging in and not letting me have the treasure! You crashed in my kingdom, so it rightfully belongs to me!” Dedede shook him as he shouted. Magolor’s ears folded down in an attempt to escape from the unbearable volume. 

“The treasure is just old things from my family, sire! It’s all plates and photos and old books! You wouldn’t want it, it’s not worth anything here!” 

“Old books! I ordered a whole monster for old books! I oughta clobber you double for lying to the king!” 

“But I told you-” Magolor was dropped hard on the ground. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up just in time to see the hammer plummet towards him. It bounced off of a small barrier that shattered immediately upon impact. Dedede stared in confusion before his mood changed completely. He bent down, getting far too close to Magolor’s face for his comfort. 

“That protect-y thing! You can make ‘em?” 

Magolor stammered, unsure of how to respond. “I-yes? I’m a mage.” 

Dedede bounced. “Do me! Do me!” 

“I’m not sure I have enough-” A hammer was jabbed into Magolor’s face. “Uh, sure. Yes, course, your highness.” He stumbled to a stand, begging himself for one last burst. He swayed a little as his hand came up. Fumu, who had been watching nearby, had enough. 

“Dedede, he’s going to-!” A pale bubble flickered into existence around Dedede, shimmering faintly. The king cheered and jumped, shattering it instantly. 

“Huh? Where’d it go? Bring it back!” He stomped his feet, then realized something important. “Wait, where’d he go?” Dedede looked around the village before spotting Magolor. He was down on the ground, paws flat against the earth. “Hey, whatsa matter with you? Get back to making protecty thingies!” 

Magolor was breathing heavily. “I’m not sure I can...It’s really hot…” Fumu put herself between Dedede and Magolor, stretching her arms out and glaring at Dedede. 

“Dedede, he needs rest! He’s worn out from the monster you made him fight! Stop bullying him!” 

“Oh, he’s gonna get his rest, all right. He’s gonna need it when he’s my new castle mage!” Dedede pushed roughly past Fumu, grabbing Magolor by the collar and running to his car. Tossing Magolor in the back seat, he pointed back to the castle. Escargoon dutifully floored it, leaving the protesting Fumu in the dust. Magolor managed only a few quiet noises of confusion before he became too tired to care. As long as there was a bed involved.


	8. Monster Mash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning for dissection and blood/organs (not too graphic tho).

The coldness hadn’t changed in the days since Marx’s introduction to the other mages. Watcher claimed that they had been instructed to teach him, as Nightmare had limited time in the day and did not usually go out into the field the way his favored mages did. They were the only one he could learn from, anyways, as none of the other mages even wanted to speak to him outside of a professional capacity. While Watcher seemed to delight in sneaking up on him and telling him all about anything that came to mind, Maladaae preferred to send him perfectly-written reading lists and take a bright red pen to every page of notes he completed, nitpicking even the most minor omissions. She had him practice his spells in front of her, criticizing the movements of his paws and the neatness of his symbols. “Perfection,” she said, “is the key to success. To be above reproach is to be unassailable to the enemy. Practice is an armour without chinks.” Marx had practiced late into the night, drawing the shapes she had taught him until his paws were sore. Her response was to pull a single sheet from the pile he had brought and tack it to the wall, declaring it his best attempt. Then she gave him an incredibly thick book and forced him to read it instead of practicing in order to avoid “damaging their master's hands." She seemed slightly less disappointed than she had been before, but she still wasn't pleased. "Practice is worthless without a strong body. Do not destroy yourself attempting to become a master in a single night." 

Watcher, on the other hand, preferred to call Nightmare “the king”, and took a dramatically different approach to teaching. They would scoop him up whenever he was alone in a hallway (no matter what he had been planning to do) and usher him to their lab, showing him their latest experiments and newly acquired “ingredients” that looked (and smelled) suspiciously like they had come from something living. They would explain the uses and how time changed the effectiveness of the ingredients. Marx would spend a few hours helping them sort their massive collection, a miniature apothecary they had somehow managed to condense to a single wall in their quarters, or taking notes while they showed him something new they were working on. They were usually a whirlwind of activity, scuttling over the walls and entertaining every idea Marx came up with as if it were delivered by a peer. He could ask any speculative question and receive an answer, and if one could not be found, he'd find himself helping Watcher prepare an experiment to find out. Maladaae once walked in on the two of them covered in soot, the Watcher laughing uproariously after Marx’s latest experiment had launched a plume of violet smoke to the ceiling before exploding on them both. Watcher had proven themselves to be his favorite to learn from by far. 

His least favorite (and the least favorite of everyone else as well, it seemed) was Grey. Like Watcher, he performed experiments and explored the outer edges of magical theory. Unlike Watcher, he was completely closed to the suggestions of others. He insulted Marx, insulted the Watcher, and closed himself in his lab whenever he became even slightly unhappy or frustrated. He was messy, perpetually covered in strange-smelling stains, and constantly muttered to himself under his breath about anything that annoyed him. Once a single question caused him to pull his hood over his face and scream into it. His cold behavior disappointed the Watcher when they tried to rant to him and his sloppiness kept Maladaae’s nose firmly in the air. Despite Nightmare’s instructions, he outright refused to work with Marx, speaking to him only rarely and foisting him onto the Watcher at any opportunity. Watcher was overjoyed to have more time with their new apprentice, but Maladaae warned that Grey's refusal to help was a direct violation of Nightmare's orders. 

Maladaae’s warnings went unheeded. Grey insisted he was above teaching some upstart kid basic casting. He had worked hard to get here, he claimed, and it was above his station, and Marx would probably disappear into monster storage in a month’s time anyways, so what was the use in wasting his time on some worthless idiot? 

Grey would return to the base’s library soon after to find an entire section of books missing. Books he needed for the next few weeks of research. Marx’s door remained locked no matter how much he pounded and yelled. They were returned in a few days, setting Grey back the entire time. Then another section went missing, then another. The upper bunk of Marx’s bed was steadily filling with binders of notes, one pile corrected in red pen, the other pristine and perfectly organized. Maladaae seemed happy to fuel Marx's obsessive studying, taking the time to hand correct all of his notes down to the last detail. After he had exhausted the library's resources Maladaae began to lend him books from her personal collection. He couldn’t tell if it was out of kindness or simply a desire to see him best Grey. 

The otaking nearly frothed at the mouth whenever he saw Marx. He had begun to pre-emptively check out books, sneaking into the library in the dead of night long before he allowed Marx into his lab for observation, the only kind of learning Grey allowed him to get. Having lost the ability to peek at Grey’s corkboard, he turned to Maladaae once again, who began giving Marx covert hints after her visits to Grey's lab. When Grey locked Marx and Maladaae out of his lab entirely, they knew they had won. 

Marx allowed himself to rest at last, crawling into bed without setting an alarm. The alarm clock had been a gift from Maladaae to ensure his punctuality. He worked late into the base's "night" and she expected him to arrive with his completed work not long after that. Today was the first time in weeks that he had gone to sleep without setting it for a few hours later. When he awoke again nearly the entire day had passed. The world felt like it was coated in a heavy syrup. Dimly, he noted that someone had slipped a small, yellow slip of paper under his door, wrinkling it slightly in their effort to get it over the fuzzy carpet. He briefly considering getting out of bed to retrieve it before falling asleep for another twenty minutes. After that extra bit of napping, he felt even worse, but he still managed to pull himself from his bed and pick up the slip. He squinted at it for a brief moment, then opened the door to reveal the foil-wrapped food Malbo had left for him. He had nearly forgotten Malbo, amidst all of the work and studying, but Malbo hadn’t forgotten him. A small piece of him nibbled at his conscience uncomfortably as he pulled it inside. 

Malbo had made him a simple meal, the kind that wasn’t too bad when cold but wasn’t great either, though the mediocre quality of the food may have been due to its maker. According to the note, he and a few of the other mages had been trying their paw at cooking for themselves after seeing Marx do it so easily, with varying results. Malbo wanted to give him some of the food he had made as a way to return the favor. A small pang of guilt struck him. He had hardly thought of Malbo at all for weeks, and they had been thinking of him enough to cook for him. Marx made a mental note to check up on the other mages when he had the time. 

Marx had gotten only around halfway through his meal before his necklace began to glow and rise, gently pulling at him. He set the plate on the floor (as every table was filled with binders) and wearily trudged to Nightmare’s door. Inside, Nightmare loomed at his desk, no work to be seen. It seemed that he was there specifically to meet with Marx. 

“So, you are awake. Good. I have been told that you have been putting forth an incredible effort in your studies recently, even for you, and that you have managed to outwit one of your own teachers. Am I correct?” Nightmare probed gently. 

“I, um, yeah…” He dug through his internal haze, searching for the words, and came up with very little. “He locked me out of his lab. And Maladaae, too, because she was helping me. Was I, uh…” he swallowed nervously. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“On the contrary, my dear student. It is Grey who is in the wrong. He has refused to teach you, hindered your progress, and disobeyed direct orders from me. Yet, despite all of his efforts, he has been bested by someone several years his junior.” Nightmare’s smile stretched wider as he leaned forward. “I have spoken with Maladaae and Watcher, and have come to the conclusion that he is no longer necessary, nor is he wanted.” Marx looked up, just a bit more awake than he had been. Not wanted? Nightmare continued, seemingly relishing every word. “So, he has been replaced. To be more specific, he has been replaced by the one who bested him. Maladaae has the keys to your new laboratory.” 

What Nightmare had intended as a bombshell didn’t quite land. Marx was still suppressing his swaying, blinking in an attempt to keep himself awake. “Where’s he gonna go?” 

“Oh, what was it he said to you? That you would end up with the monsters?” He chuckled at the expression on Marx’s face. “Do not worry about it too much. It was a long time coming, as they say. Grey now occupies a more suitable place for the likes of him.” 

Marx’s confused, slightly concerned expression was interrupted by a yawn that had become too large to hold at bay. He rubbed at his face, trying to keep himself awake. The room was warm and dim, just as it always was, and he was in comfortable company. Neither fact helped his situation. He was worried about what had happened to Grey, of course, but it was hard to devote much mental energy to anything when he barely had enough to keep himself upright. Nightmare laughed again, a quiet little giggle. A silvery hand slipped beneath Marx, raising him high into the air. He was deposited safely into a few folds in Nightmare’s cloak. “Still not rested, are we?” A part of the fabric curled over him, trapping him comfortably. “Take another nap. You have earned it.” His drowsiness washed over him more powerfully, sending him to sleep in a matter of moments. 

Another nap, another carefully guided dream. Marx found himself in his lab, surrounded by the products of his own hard work. Corked bottles full of iridescent liquids, intricate, artfully drawn symbols that flowed down long strips of parchment like water. Maladaae drew quietly at a counter, assisting him, while Watcher hung from the ceiling. He was laughing, they all were laughing. Indistinct jokes and pleasant chatter made time fly by. They were winning, had won already, Marx knew, in that way you knew things in dreams. There was a peace in his heart that he hadn’t known in a while. No loneliness, no omnipresent creeping sense of need. Just him, his friends, and a goal that would save the universe. Watcher took parchment from Maladaae and arranged it on the center island with efficiency and care. They dropped and twisted, landing on the floor beside Marx as Maladaae rose to join them. Brushes were dipped into each bottle, certain lines traced over. The trio joined hands and spoke in words that Marx had never known. Purple light began to fill the room. 

Marx awoke alone in his room once more. 

Watcher was overjoyed to see Marx fully alert. It was hard to run experiments when your assistant fell asleep face down in your haphenth powder. They needed three of their paws to count how many times they had to stow Marx in their mane and carry him back to his bed. Once they had even taken him to the king. Marx had been so tired he had trouble even making it to the lab, and all Nightmare had done was send them back with a bit of purple dust to slip into his water. He had been a bit better after that, but (and Watcher loathed to admit it) the king’s solutions were of little use against Marx’s single-minded determination to work himself to death. They had even briefly considered doing something about it themselves, before deciding against it on the grounds that accidentally poisoning their assistant would make the king very angry with them. 

But now everything was just fine. Marx had a lab of his own and Grey was nowhere to be seen. Watcher did wonder where he had gone, but if the king had decided it, then it was certainly the right place for him to be. Things were a lot more pleasant, at any rate, and the team worked more smoothly than it had in a long time. 

Everything was working exactly as it should. Marx had gotten his key from Maladaae, and now Watcher was helping him move his dozens of binders onto the shelves. Grey’s work and various possessions were still scattered all around the lab. Spilled test tubes had dripped onto the counter and rotted beyond recognizability. Marx kept his mouth firmly shut, trying to avoid the smell. Watcher busied themselves with gathering samples of the messes into small jars and tucking them into their mane. Marx had cleared a portion of the floor and was carefully drawing out a spell circle. Calling Watcher to the side of the room, he finished the circle and spoke as clearly as he could. The grime on the floor disappeared, the magical mold disintegrated, and all of the equipment righted itself. “Thank goodness for that spell.” He never wanted to see a room in that state ever again. 

“No, no, thank the king!” A thin black finger tapped his face. Watcher was over him, grinning goofily. Marx grinned back. “Thank the king.” He had a laboratory of his very own, and no Grey to spoil his fun. Marx grabbed a beaker from the center island and turned back to Watcher, his grin now mischievous. “Wanna make another mess?” 

Four hours later the lab was nearly as bad as it had been before, minus the mold. The floor was coated with pink sand and chunks of a dark green substance. Maladaae had come in at some point, watching them goof off and offering suggestions while safely on the other side of the room. This had lead to their ideas growing increasingly silly and at times incredibly elaborate. Thankfully a few of them hadn’t panned out, so the laboratory was notably intact. 

“You two really are a bad influence on each other.” She attempted to sound stern, but Marx and Watcher could both see the slight grin at the corner of her mouth. She was having fun in her own way. 

Marx stifled a yawn, doodling another circle onto the floor to clean up. They had run out of ideas, and Watcher seemed to be interested in returning to their own work now that the fun had ended. Maladaae noticed his attempt to hide his exhaustion. “Shouldn’t you be getting to bed?” 

“I’m fine, let me just clean up fi-” he yawned again mid-sentence, unable to stop himself in time. Maladaae chuckled to herself quietly before moving in to help. The lab was clean again in no time. Marx was yawning up a storm, eyes watering as he locked up for the night. To his quiet surprise, Maladaae followed him as he trudged back to his room. His hat moved almost unnoticeably on his head. 

“Keep your hat clean.” Maladaae’s paw entered his view, holding a few bits of Watcher’s fluff. She carried it with her for a few meters before depositing it into a small trash can. “Don’t let Grey’s poor habits influence your own.” 

Her concern was met with another yawn. Marx didn’t particularly care if a few puffs of fluff made their way onto his head. Watcher had so much fluff it was inevitable. “Yes’m,” he mumbled absently. They continued on in a comfortable silence for a few more moments before she spoke again. 

“I’m surprised, to be honest.” It was sudden, out of the blue, but spoken with a clearness that seemed practiced, as if she had been thinking on it for a while. 

“Mm?” Marx looked up at her, confused. 

“Grey wasn’t exaggerating about his expectations. Most apprentices prove unsuited for the duties expected of them and are relocated, just as he said. Very few make it as far as you have. I suppose he had grown jaded, or perhaps too vain to see your merit.” Merit? “Was that...a compliment? From you?” Maladaae had never complimented him before, at least not directly. Marx had resorted to seeing compliments in the sheets she tacked to walls and the note pages with fewer red lines on them than usual. 

She scoffed. “A statement of simple facts is not a compliment. You still have far to go before you can be useful to Nightmare.” She paused, her expression changing very minutely multiple times. “I will, however, admit that I hold your work ethic and loyalty in high regard. They are useful skills.” Marx beamed, even as he yawned again. 

They had reached his room. Maladaae opened the door for him, pushing him into the room with one hand. “Go to bed, de--Marx.” He turned to look at her, eyes half-closed. 

“Demarx?” 

“Slip of the tongue. Now off to bed.” 

“Mmhmm.” He turned and face planted on the bottom bunk, then wriggled himself under the blanket. Maladaae stood in the doorway, staring at the room curiously. It was in good condition, with very little out of place, and was obviously cleaned far more often than either of her colleagues’ rooms, but one detail bothered her. 

“Why do you have a bunk bed? There’s only one of you.” 

Marx seemed to cringe inwards at the question for a moment. “There was supposed to be another person. My...friend. He didn’t want to come at the last moment. Said Nightmare was “evil” or some stupid thing like that.” The words arrived hesitantly, like a finger to a wound. Maladaae moved over the threshold. Blankets had been taken from the top bunk and piled over the top of the bottom set. A pillow poked out from beside Marx. Connecting the dots took no time at all. 

“This ‘friend’ must lack common sense. I doubt you ever needed him.” She paused, seeing Marx’s body duck subtly further under the covers. “Though he may yet realize what a fool he was. Those who scorn Nightmare usually do.” She stood there awkwardly for a moment. Marx could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head. There was the ghost of a touch to his blanket. His door shut quietly, and he fell asleep moments later. 

The next few days were much easier than the weeks that had come before. He was still tired, but having a lab to himself made his studies much easier than they had been previously. He spent a few hours on the second day rearranging nearly every substance and tool in it, categorizing them in a way that made sense to him. Watcher would visit from time to time, bringing him little bits of advice or small, oddly fleshy gifts to test the uses of. 

At first they were small, a portion of something’s foot or a small, bulbous organ, clean and neatly packed into a plastic bag. Experiments with them proved to pack more of a punch than any of the natural or synthesized substances that he had worked with before. Fires were stronger, bubbles were larger. The power of one concoction was enough to blow his fur backwards. Watcher brushed off his questions, saying that the flesh had come from forests and the aftermath of accidents (not entirely a lie). So he wasn’t too concerned when his studies were moved from small pieces to entire creatures. They were already long gone, and it wasn’t the first time he had taken a biology class. He knew what to expect, though having both teachers in the same room for his lessons was a bit unusual. Maladaae praised his delicate handling, encouraging him further. He was too absorbed in his work to spot her toying with her own fingers as she watched him. After a while he began to get used to the smells and the sight of blood, neatly dissecting the strange creatures brought to him almost on autopilot. It was interesting, he thought, how so many different creatures from different planets seemed to have developed the same fundamental structures despite their unique environments. There was nearly always some sort of heart, if not a few, usually some sort of respiratory system, and some sort of stomach. Everyone was alike on the inside, whether they knew it or not. But no amount of fascination could stop him from drawing the line. 

A small, furry lump lay splayed on a wheeled table, its limbs tucked into restraints. Its chest rose and fell softly. Marx didn’t have any desire to step closer to see what it was, but Watcher urged him forward, little black paws against his back. “Look, look! A new project! The king has asked, we must, we must!” 

“Isn’t it...alive?” He was now right next to the little table. Watcher hit a lever and it folded down neatly to his height, bringing the sleeping creature into his view. Watcher giggled. 

“A silly question! Of course, of course! A potion must be made, and the ingredients must be new! It is still breathing, it will not miss what is lost! We need it more, much more!” 

“But it might still need it--” 

A paw curled over his shoulder, Watcher creeping around him. “Nonsense. Do you concern yourself with animals for food? For work? I have given you many little pieces of the same kind, and you did not object to those.” 

“They were already dead! You can’t hurt something dead. It’s different!” Marx’s voice was fearful, nearly a whine. A paw dropped onto his head, seemingly to comfort him as he was pushed. 

“It does not suffer while it is asleep, and our master’s work suffers always without us. A few creatures lost will provide goodness for many! Very small price! You must learn, if you are to help.” They pressed a scalpel into his palm. “Take the smallest pillar of its air chamber. Careful not to damage it, or any other.” 

This was not at all where he had expected today’s lesson to go. “I-I don’t know how to do that, you better do it so I don’t mess it up.” Marx tried to hand the scalpel back. Watcher simply pressed it back and took Marx’s paw in their own, turning him back to the table. 

“You, a maker of mistakes? I think not. You are with us, are you not?” They pressed his paw forward gently, moving the scalpel ever closer to a shaved patch in the creature’s fur. “The other...that is a maker of mistakes. You shall do better.” The scalpel was nearly there. 

“Maladaae...told you?” He hadn’t said anything about Magolor to Watcher, and yet they knew. The thought of her telling others about his personal business made his chest hurt. 

“No. The king told me of your missing friend. He is still upset, just as you are. He liked that one nearly as much as you.” 

“I’m not upset.” 

“Then why does your paw tighten on the scalpel?” Watcher was right. Marx’s grip had freed itself from Watcher’s, clutching the handle of his own accord. The tip was pressed gently to the skin of the creature. A quiet giggle behind him startled him, and he pulled back, staring at what he had nearly done. The skin was still untouched, but for how long? He didn’t want to. He needed a way out of this. 

“Um, what happened to Grey by the way? Nightmare told me he was gone and I haven’t seen him in a while! Ha.” Marx blurted it out quickly, praying it would have the usual effect. Watcher’s paw moved away from his. Thank the king. 

“You have not seen?” Watcher seemed quizzical, rising excitement making their fur twitch. 

“Um…no? Does he work somewhere else now?” 

“Come, come! I will show you!” They dropped to all sixes and scuttled away, leaving Marx to chase after them. Watcher paid no mind to the boundary between floor and wall, turning corners erratically until they had taken Marx to the monster storage room. 

The inside was nearly the same as it had been before. The monsters seemed to pay no mind to Watcher, crawling close to the bars of the cages to peer at Marx now that their master was gone. Smaller creatures scuttled freely along the boxes, peeking at him and even running up to him before disappearing into gaps between the cages. Watcher took him all the way to the back of the room. There was a new addition to the lineup. 

A glass box shoved against the wall, seemingly on its side. Inside was a creature that seemed to be an amalgamation of stains and rotting goo. Various limbs from a dozen unknown creatures struck out blindly against the sides of the box, trying in vain to break the glass. The creature’s face was a trio of ugly gashes in the slime, one holding a single eyeball that struggled to stay straight enough to look at them. “Here he is!” Watcher giggled at the sight. 

“That’s...that’s Grey?!” Marx looked on in horror as the creature thrashed against the glass, seemingly in pain. Slime melted parts of the glass only slightly slower than it could replenish itself. It seemed to strain towards Marx in particular, forcing its eye against the glass and straining so fiercely that only a few centimeters of glass could keep up with it. 

“It is, it is! The king has made improvements. He has improved us all! I was once a lowly Floralian, and now I am much greater, yes!” The Watcher spoke of their transformation as if it were a wonderful blessing. “Maladaae has been changed as well, and chose! Her lifetime dream realized in the service of a better purpose! To change is to be of service to the king!” Watcher clasped their paws together, staring at the misshapen horror with something akin to a smug expression. “Grey did not do his service, did not listen, and was punished for it! One must serve well, without question, to be rewarded!” They paused, an eye rolling to the side to stare at him curiously. “I wonder what he will do to you, when the time comes?”


	9. High Humidity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hot damn it's been a while. got hit with the writer's block, but thankfully i now have...a lot of a time on my hands. it's even a little longer than usual!

Sunlight crept hesitantly around the curtains of the guest room, tinting the room a faint gold. Magolor woke to a beam of light shining onto his face. He ached all over, though not physically. It felt as if his every nerve and neuron had been chafed raw and left exposed. A simple loud sound could hurt him. He had been thrown hastily on top of the sheets, still in his clothes. The room was humid and stifling. His mouth was dry enough to stick to itself. He reached up to pull off his hood. It helped only slightly. 

After a few minutes spent staring at the curtain atop the four-poster, he rolled off the bed to try and see where he was. The last thing he remembered was the king dragging him away in a car after ignoring his exhaustion. Jerk. He was surprised he wasn't in the dungeon. His ears twitched as he listened through the door. There didn't seem to be anyone outside, so he pulled his hood back over his ears and slowly pushed it open. It was surprising that it wasn't locked. 

Even more surprising was the sight of a tiny orange person outside, holding a spear and staring silently at him. Magolor flinched backwards, but the creature didn't move to attack him, instead pointing to the side with their spear and waddling away. Magolor followed silently. They were met by a few more identical ones, staring into each other’s eyes briefly before merging into one group. He was led outside and into the heat. 

Out of the gates and down the hill was his ship, sitting just outside of the village. He had no idea how it had gotten there, but it was unharmed (at least relative to how it had landed) and upright. “How…?” The little creature raised their arms, followed by the rest of them. “You…carried it?” They nodded. “But you’re so small...how did you get it all the way up here?” The first one pointed back into the castle walls and began to walk away. He followed as they led him down the halls and into a large dining hall. In that hall were uncountable thousands of identical creatures, sitting primly in rows. They turned to look at him all at once. 

“Oh! There are so many of you.” He stared at them for a moment before remembering his manners. “Uh, thank you! For helping me with my ship, I mean.” He called out, hoping he would be loud enough to be heard by the room. “It was really nice of you!” 

“They say you’re welcome.” Magolor started and turned to see who had spoken. An orange, round person with a single, enormous eye was standing behind him. They had a small sword sheathed on a shoulder strap they wore. “You’re not going to be able to hear them, but they do appreciate it. We’re not used to people actually thanking us.” 

“Uh, thank you?” To his surprise, they laughed. 

“I’m Waddle Doo, captain of the Waddle Dees. Nice to meet ya...?” 

“Magolor. He shook the paw offered to him. “So...what’s going on exactly? I think I passed out on the way here.” 

A look of recognition passed Waddle Doo’s eye. He laughed. “Oh, so you’ve already gotten the usual treatment? Surprised he didn’t throw you in the dungeon, haha!” 

“Ha…sure…” 

“Dedede’s been blabbering all day about his new ‘castle wizard’ and how you’re taking too long to wake up. It took Escargoon a whole lotta work to keep him distracted long enough to let you sleep.” 

“The rude snail?” Magolor was puzzled. “Why would he care?” 

Doo snorted. “Even he understands the importance of beauty rest. Come on. The king wanted to talk to you once you woke up, and he really hates being kept waiting.” Magolor was led to another area, an activity he was growing increasingly used to. Just about everyone here wanted to play tour guide. 

The throne room was enormous, but it paled in comparison to Dedede's tantrum. He was barely contained, yelling and complaining as Escargoon tried to calm him down. It was a side of him that Magolor was beginning to expect. When Dedede caught sight of Magolor behind Doo he stopped immediately, a beak-splitting grin overtaking his face. Magolor was reminded of how toddlers cease their tantrum the second their parents give in. 

"There ya are! Get enough 'beauty sleep'?" He laughed, leaning over to Escargoon and whispering loudly. "We're gonna save so much money!" He turned back to Magolor. "Now listen! We're letting you stay so you've gotta pull your weight! There are no slackers in this kingdom, ya hear?" Escargoon muttered something under his breath, but Dedede didn't notice. "So as the king, I've decided that you're gonna be the new castle magic-ishin. You're gonna be casting spells and making potions whenever I want! Got that?" 

"Of course, Your Highness. I'd be happy to assist." It didn't seem like he was going to have much of a choice in the matter. Dedede clapped his gloved paws together in childish glee. 

"Great! Now go get rid of Kirby!" 

"What?" 

Dedede seemed annoyed at being questioned. "You know, go do that wizard stuff you do and get ridda that pipsqueak! Turn them into a frog or somethin'!" 

"Isn't Kirby, um, a baby? Why do you want them gone?" 

"That little runt is ruinin' everything for me! Everyone pays attention to them instead of to their king, and they've destroyed every monsta I've sent after 'em!" 

"And if ya tell anyone about the monsters we'll throw you in the dungeon!" Escargoon chimed in. Magolor already knew about the monsters, as did Fumu, but it seemed like a bad time to say so. 

"I-I see. Right away then. I'll do my best. I'll just need some time to think up a good plot, is all, find the right thing to get rid of them with. I'll go do that. Bye!" Magolor nearly ran from the room, leaving Dedede and Escargoon alone. 

The first thing Dedede did was press a button on his throne, pulling a massive TV from the wall. It flickered on, revealing a strange-looking man in dark glasses. His smile seemed to be plastered onto his face. “How can I help you, King Dedede?” 

“Ya can’t no more! I don’t need ya! We got a new wizard and he’s gonna handle Kirby for us! So we don’t need your stupid monsters anymore!” 

“I see. Who might this enterprising mage be?” 

“His name’s Magga Lore! He’s workin’ here for free!” 

“Well, best of luck with that, your Highness. Have a nice day!” The strange man ended the transmission. There was a dark shape looming over him. 

“I believe we’ve found your missing student, sir.” 

“Good. Leave him be for now. I wish to see how this progresses.” 

“Of course.” 

Dented metal, a few missing fins, a snapped mast, and badly scratched paint. It wasn’t the worst shape the Starcutter had been in during its lengthy lifespan, but it certainly wasn’t good. Magolor sighed to himself as he surveyed the damage. This was going to take ages to repair, but at the very least the power hadn’t gone out. His food was still safe and he wouldn’t need to find any lights to work by. The first order of business would most likely be the broken door. Being able to shut himself inside of something would definitely prove useful, considering the country’s unfortunate leadership and its apparent monster problem. Between Dedede and N.M.E., being involuntarily hired as an on-call child hitman was the least of his concerns. 

Magolor debated his options for repairing the door. Doing it with his own strength was out of the question, and creating any of the potions that could theoretically solve the issue would take too long. He would have to use a spell, one without much prep time. One like-ah, of course. The straightening spell. It was mainly meant for small-scale household use, but if he put enough juice into it (that is, if he had enough) he could probably manage to unbend an entire door. Marx had taught him how to use it back when they were in school. 

The thought sent a pang of longing sadness through him. He wondered whether Marx was okay. Nightmare wouldn't hurt him, right? Not after spending all that time training him. Of course there was a chance that Marx rebelled, or tried to escape. Or maybe he hadn't, and was doing his bidding willingly. Magolor wasn't sure which one scared him more. His mind stewed while he prepared for the spell, searching around his ship for some chalk to mark the door with. 

He managed to keep the chalk for a matter of seconds upon his exit. His vision went dark immediately, something thick and incredibly heavy flopping onto him with the force of a soaked weighted blanket. For a moment he thought someone was trying to capture him. Then he felt the slime against his face. It was cool and dry, moving in a way that seemed intelligent, but somehow less than alive. He could breathe, strangely enough, but his screams didn't sound like they were escaping the mass against him. His hands could find no purchase on the writhing creature no matter how much he thrashed. 

All at once he was trapped, wrapped tightly from his hands to his ears. He couldn't move. Panic spiked in his chest as he tried desperately to free himself. He struggled for a spell, any spell, but his panic yielded nothing. He tried fruitlessly to wriggle away, but he couldn’t so much as twitch. Then something changed, and gradually his fear began to lessen. It seemed that he had spent an eternity in this place. Had there ever been anything else? Maybe, he thought, he was safe here, maybe...he got no further as a haze settled over him, his mind drifting as if he were near sleep. 

There was a blaze of blinding light and a wrenching sensation that went through his very soul. It took Magolor a few moments to realize that the slime had receded and he was lying down. His vision cleared a few seconds after that. Meta Knight was standing over him, sword drawn. A dark substance dripped from the blade. Fumu watched nervously a few feet behind him, a large branch in her hand. As Magolor stared blankly at them, he watched the dark substance pooling on the ground slither away into the grass out of the corner of his eye. 

Fumu dropped her branch, rushing to his side. "Are you all right?" Her voice seemed to quaver as he listened, his mind still swimming. 

Magolor nodded. He was a bit dizzy, but nothing seemed to hurt. "Whau…", he tried, "what was thad. That?" 

"Dark Matter. It feeds on negative emotions." Meta Knight's voice was much clearer than Fumu's had been. "It may have been the very same that crashed your ship." 

"Like the black on the rocks…" 

“The rocks? What rocks?” 

“At home...Landia died.” He struggled to get his tongue in order. “The uh, guardian of the planet. Nightmare and that...Dark Matter? Killed him. I think.” 

“Oh...I’m sorry.” Fumu awkwardly patted him, biting at her lips in silence. “Would you like to go research it? Maybe we can find a way to defeat it in the castle library. That way it can't bother you anymore." 

“Dedede...can read?” 

Meta Knight snorted under his mask. Fumu giggled. “Nope! It was here long before he was. We think he’s just too lazy to get rid of them.” She extended a hand. “Need some help?” Magolor tentatively took it and was startled when she immediately pulled him upright. 

“You’re uh, very strong. For a child.” 

“Or you need some exercise. Race ya!” Fumu released his hand and broke into a dead sprint up the path. 

“Hey! Slow down! I just got eaten!” It was true, but to his surprise his head had already cleared and he felt no worse for wear. Magolor rushed after her, hoping he wouldn’t lose sight of her before they made it to the library. The ship could wait a moment. 

The library was surprisingly large. He had expected something small, something befitting the castle it belonged to, but this was at least half the size of the one at Paraffanta’s. The books seemed to have come from all time periods and places, the majority at least a few decades old. The shelves extended to the ceiling. Magolor walked slowly around them as he caught his breath. A small part of him hoped to find books on magic. There was very little chance he’d be allowed back to the academy. 

He found Fumu up on a ladder, examining a shelf. “No, not there either. I wish someone would organize these--oh! Took you long enough, slowpoke. Help me look. We need anything labeled “Dark Matter” or anything that seems to be about mythology or space-dwelling creatures.” 

The hunt lasted a while. 

The book was old and dusty, the pages yellow and brittle with age. He read it very carefully. Most of it was unhelpful, full of reprinted first hand accounts of “strange creatures” on other planets and paragraphs of gathered research. A short skim led him to more of this, occasionally interspersed with little ink illustrations. About halfway through he spotted a splotch of solid black ink. Turning back to the page revealed a massive, detailed cross section drawing of a cave system filled with various treasures. Small dark splotches and circles floated through it, large open eyes staring down the passages. In a central chamber floated a massive, uncolored circle with a small, staring eye. Seeing it sent a small chill through Magolor’s body. 

> _The planet Cavestar was once known as Glowstar, long before its transformation. Ancient writings point to the existence of a wealthy, magically adept kingdom led by a much beloved king, though the name of the king or his kingdom have yet to be discovered. Other writings mention strong magical energy welling up from the core of the planet. At some point an unknown threat leveled the entire kingdom and drove the survivors beneath the ground. They rebuilt their society and natural life began to flourish again, this time within the planet itself, both growing along the enormous cave system. The people of this world died out long ago, but its plant and animal life still remain, as do the ancient kingdom’s artifacts._
> 
> _The author has personally ventured within the caves in the pursuit of an artifact known in legend as the Master Crown. According to the legend it is the crown of the lost mage king, imbued with the energy of the king and the kingdom's devotion to each other. It grants its wearer immense power, provided they are capable of controlling it. I was given no such opportunity._
> 
> _Instead of locating the crown I was confronted on all sides by strange, dark creatures. They were spherical in shape and their faces were composed of nothing more than a single eye, small orange spheres forming a ring around their opposite ends. Unable to escape them, I was dragged by the creatures further into the center of the planet. They felt to me to be incredibly dense and viscous, yet floated along the passages with little difficulty._
> 
> _In the hollow central chamber of the planet was a massive, terrifying entity. It is clear to me now that it is a deity. It seemed to stare into my very soul, and as it stared I began to feel strange. It knew who I was and what I wanted. It pinned me with its omniscience, the consumptive weight of its gaze holding me motionless even as blackness began to coat my vision._
> 
> _I was given tasks. I was to search for the Master Crown. I was to bring it to its owner. We would have it again, then. I have retained my will, I am sure of it, but even now my goals align with that of the deity. We are of the same cloth, and this only makes the pain of my failure double. It urges and encourages me towards the Crown, but the one who has stolen it holds power beyond what I am able to best. Landia, false-king, thief of that which is ours, wears our stolen power upon his highest head. I know I cannot stop him, and yet the dwindling fear of my own death is all that stops me from embracing my own expendability. May Zero cleanse me of it soon._

This was definitely it. Cavestar was almost certainly where Landia's crown had been taken, and it was undoubtedly the source of his pursuer. He contemplated calling Tiff over, but decided against it upon seeing her nose buried in a book as well. He could take the time to memorize the information first. He had gotten lucky, perhaps for the first time since the incident. 

Then again, this passage here was a bit...messed up. Perhaps it would best to avoid showing it to her. It was bad enough that a little kid was this involved in adult issues to begin with. He tucked it back on the shelf, low to the ground where she wouldn’t think to look for it. 

“Find anything yet?” Magolor’s paw collided with the underside of the shelf. He turned a little too quickly, trying his best not to seem suspicious. 

“Not, yet, no. I’m not sure there’s anything here. But thank you for helping me! This was a good idea.” 

“I just wish we found something.” Fumu’s face fell, and the two of them stood awkwardly for a moment before she filled the silence. “So, what’s it like? Doing magic?” 

Magolor shrugged, trying to come with a good answer. “I’m not really sure what it’s like not to do magic. My whole family’s done it. It’s kinda normal for me by now. You get weird looks sometimes, though, and people ask you for silly things out of nowhere. Mostly you can just do things that other people don’t know how to do, like being a musician or a scientist.” 

“So it’s like a job?” Her posture had softened, curiosity canceling out Magolor’s awkward aura. 

“Sort of? For some people it is. For others it’s just a hobby, and for other people it’s a lifestyle. I think some people are religious about it, too. There are a bunch of different little schools of thought.” 

“What kind of schools?” There was a glint in her eye, one he found familiar. There was no way she was leaving without answers. 

“Well, there’s-hold on, this will be easier if I chart it out.” Magolor floated to the tables and found a piece of scrap paper and a small pencil. Fumu followed, staring at the page eagerly as he scratched out his ideas. 

"There's the material school, which is the one they taught at the academy I went to. This one is based on the idea that magic is a form of energy and that it's no more special than photons or gravity. They think that things like spirits are just hallucinations and delusions caused by prolonged contact to parasitic magic sources. A lot of them are into science as well as magic." Magolor looked up to see Fumu had pulled a chair forward, attention rapt. 

"What's parasitic magic?" 

"They taught us that its like something between a leech and a virus. They're sort of alive, but not really, and they feed on magic instead of blood. I'm not sure that's true, though." Fumu nodded and he continued, scratching out two more categories. 

"Another school is the mystics. They believe that magic is an inherent property of life in the universe and that it stems from our feelings and desires. They don't believe that physics has anything to do with magic whatsoever. The third type is the religious. These mages believe that all of their power stems from the gods, usually a single main entity. It's rare they agree on which one, though. They’re more commonly found where people are far apart from each other or living on planets hostile to them. And they’re _very_ into spirits.” 

Fumu furrowed her brow. “So these spirits. Are they like ghosts?” 

“Not really? They’re what happens when a bunch of magic gets concentrated in one spot and gains awareness. Most of them are like incorporeal people. A really bad one that tries to use mages for their own gain.” 

“All of them?” Her head tilted to the side. 

“I’ve only met one.” He paused for a moment. “Two now, if you count that Dark Matter. Both of them are so strong they became physical.” 

“So how do you know they’re all bad if you’ve only met two? Maybe some of them are good!” 

“...Maybe? They told us they were all bad in school. But I hope you’re right. ...Fumu?" Fumu stared down at the table silently, mouth screwed tight. Then she spoke, the first sound jabbing out into the air suddenly. 

“Do you think you could teach me?” 

“Teach you...what?” 

“About magic.” She bit her lip nervously. Magolor scrambled for a response. 

“It’s--not as cool as it seems. Most of it’s taking a lot of notes and reading a lot of old books. There isn’t even a wand involved, usually.” 

“I like reading. And studying. I might be the only person around here who does.” 

“No one else is a fan of school, I’m guessing?” 

“We don’t have one. There was a little one for a bit but it was from NME. The teacher was really nice, though.” Magolor shivered internally at the name. 

“No school. In a town full of children? Who teaches them?” 

“I try to, sometimes, but they don’t like to listen to me. Kirby runs off chasing butterflies, and everyone else falls asleep.” 

“Oh.” It didn’t take long for him to come to a decision after that. This little girl had a lot of weight on her shoulders. She at least deserved _something_ nice, and she seemed more than responsible enough. “Well you're a little young, but as long as you don’t teach anything to the other kids, I have some books you can read about it. You can’t take them off the ship, though. Oh! I forgot the ship!” He was supposed to be fixing it before he got attacked, and-"Dedede’s Kirby stopper thing! Oh, it’s been like two hours, I’m going to be in so much trouble--” 

“You’re going to help Dedede?” Fumu’s tone immediately changed, becoming subtly hostile. 

“Not really, no. I’m just going to make stuff up and pretend it failed. I wouldn’t hurt Kirby! They’re just a baby!” 

And just like that, her guard dropped again. “Good. You couldn’t if you tried, anyway.” 

“I figured as much.” Magolor chuckled nervously. “I should probably get back down there.” What in the world was going on with the children in this town? He picked up the little paper and handed it to her. “There. First notes! Haha see you later!” 

“See you?” Fumu made a face. Magolor was already rushing from the room. It took a few tries to find his way through the hallways and a little while longer to make it to the bottom of the hill. The door of his ship was in the same condition it had been in before, but he had more pressing matters. The afternoon was slipping away from him, and he still didn’t have a single plan to appease Dedede. He needed flashy garbage and he needed it fast. 

The door groaned as Magolor forced his way past it. Most of the rooms of the ship were still in disarray, the smaller items thrown around haphazardly during the crash. The fridge, blessedly, was still sealed, and the backup power running the klaxons seemed to be keeping both it and the ship’s lights running as well. Maybe the kitchen would hold the answer to his problem. 

Magolor began to rummage through the cabinets, searching for any sort of ingredients that could make a good fake potion. Maybe he could manage a real potion, if it were edible and harmless enough. Whatever he made, it would need to look very obviously magical and not suspicious at all. 

In the end, he settled on a concoction made mostly of flour, water, eggs, and a bit of food coloring he’d found in a drawer. The result was a jar of watery, reddish batter that looked far more disgusting than it did magical. He’d need to spice it up a bit. Hopefully a little bit of illusion magic wouldn’t take too much of his already meager reserves. 

A few words and a bit of silly hand-waving transformed the potion into a glittery, faintly glowing jar of disgusting batter slime. He dug out a fluted glass potion bottle and transferred it over for good measure. 

“There. That should trick him.” An aggressive pounding on his already thoroughly destroyed front door made him nearly drop the bottle. 

“Hey! You’ve been in there all day! Where’s my Kirby buster!” The pounding continued, the already thoroughly-abused metal door screeching in agony. Magolor raced to stop the assault on his ship. Dedede and Escargoon were right outside, nearly flush with the threshold. “Right here! Right here, your highness! I just got it done!” 

“Took ya long enough! Lemme see!” Dedede tore the potion from Magolor’s paw, inspecting it just long enough to see the sparkles and conclude that it was, in fact, magical. “What’s it do?” 

Magolor hadn’t thought that far. “It uh, it makes the drinker’s skull swell up to an enormous size? And then pop. Real dangerous one, I’d be careful not to get any on you if I were you.” 

Dedede handed the potion back as quickly as he could, eyes wide. It was a moment before he remembered that he was supposed to be demanding things. “What’re you doin’ just standing there! Go get Kirby!” He pointed outside dramatically and Magolor left his ship, rushing down to Cappy Town just quickly enough to make it seem as if he were in a rush. The other two followed at a distance, waiting to see what would happen. 

Kirby was on their usual patrol, checking around the houses in town to see if there was any food left for them. They had nearly gone peeking into yet another window when Magolor caught their attention. 

"Hey Kirby! I have uh. A new drink for you to try!" He announced. Holding out the potion to Kirby, he whispered "Just fake drink it or something, okay? It probably doesn't taste very good." 

To Magolor's horror, it disappeared, bottle and all, into a gaping hole. The wind was so powerful it pulled his hood forward. He yelled, instinctively pulling back from the short gust. Once the whirlwind had ended he nervously looked at Kirby, who simply cheered with delight. They seemed no worse for wear despite having swallowed glass. 

"What the…?" This entire town operated on nonsense. 

A small shuffling sound a few meters away alerted Magolor to the pair hiding not-so-inconspicuously behind the town center’s tree. He threw himself backwards, raising a fist in front of him and placing the other paw on his face dramatically. “Kirby! How dare you resist the power of my ingenious potion! Alas, I have overlooked that you lack a skull to explode! Woe is me, _if only I had more time to regain my power,_ then maybe I could best you! Alas, fiend!” 

“Poy…” Kirby tilted their face to the side in confusion and sadness. Why was their friend upset with them? Were they not supposed to eat that? 

Magolor winked. “Shh, it’s okay, I’m not really mad. Just play along.” This reassured Kirby, and they made a happy little noise and waddled towards him as quickly as they could, arms raised for a hug. Magolor floated backwards to no avail. Kirby collided with his chest and tried their absolute hardest to hug him with their tiny paws. 

“Ahh! I’ve been attacked! Someone help!” Magolor hammed it up as hard as he could, waving his paws and trying his best to seem frantic. _I’m terrible at this._

“Look! Kirby’s gotten the best of ‘im already! We gotta do somethin’!” Dedede stared at the scene from his position behind the tree, wide-eyed. 

“Heroism isn’t your strong suit, sire.” 

“I’m not savin’ him! Maggo-Lor has the pipsqueak distracted! I’m gonna go get a monster and hit them with a surprise attack! That’ll finish ‘em off for good!” Dedede took off towards the castle. “Should’a brought the car for this…” Escargoon shook his head and reluctantly followed. 

Magolor dropped the act the second they were out of sight. “I can’t believe they actually fell for that.” He reached down to gently pry Kirby from his chest. “Come on buddy. Personal space.” Kirby giggled and wiggled their paws happily as Magolor set them down. 

“Sorry for dropping all that on you out of nowhere. And feeding you a bottle of batter. But listen, next time I come up to you with something and pretend to try and defeat you I need you to play along, okay? No hugging, no cutesy little baby noises. Maybe pretend you’re sick after you drink it? If they catch on that I’m lying to them I’m gonna get--I’ll be in big trouble. Please?” 

Kirby stared blankly upwards for a few moments, then chirped their assent. They turned and began to hunt for something to eat, carefree once more now that the weird stuff was over with. 

As soon as Magolor turned to go back up to his ship an enormous weight hit him with the force of a wall. He shut his eyes instinctively. It was thick, ice cold, and unpleasantly wet. For a horrifying second he believed that he had been captured by the Dark Matter once again. It passed around him in a second, leaving him soaked to the skin and freezing. Once he had cleared the water from his eyes he turned to see his attacker. An enormous blob of freezing water was rolling its way towards Kirby, its misshapen bubble face twisted into rage. 

"Kirby!" He called out impulsively. Kirby turned just as the water monster barreled into them, encasing them in water before expelling them with a loud splash. Kirby flew several meters before bouncing off of a wall. Dedede's triumphant jeering was the only thing louder than the creature's gargling roar. 

An entirely new monster that focused solely on Kirby. His magic trick wouldn't work a second time. He needed a new plan, but what? Kirby couldn't be hurt from the outside, but that much water might drown them. Or they could inhale it, and who knows what would happen then. It could be poisonous, or worse. Magolor was frozen in place, struggling for an idea as he watched the creature roll towards where Kirby had fallen. 

"Throw an ability. Kirby can copy what they eat." A familiar voice broke his panic. Meta Knight had conveniently appeared once again, this time on a tree bough. 

"Why aren't you helping?" 

"Challenge helps a warrior grow." 

"...Toddler…?" 

"We don't have time for this right now. Throw an ability." 

He'd explain the ethics of having a child soldier later. By now Kirby was running for their life from the demon beast, dashing around corners in an attempt to avoid capture. They were breathing hard, yelling whenever any of the water got too close. Magolor wracked his brain. Something he could manage that would work well against water...aha! 

He carefully turned his back on Dedede, doing his best to hide what he was up to. Muttering under his breath, he began to pull. Static sparks became tiny bolts, then a hovering sphere of crackling danger. Magolor extended a paw, releasing a ball of electricity into the air. It was small, but it would do. 

"Kirby!" Meta called out in his stead, apparently understanding the situation. They dutifully swallowed it, covering their head with green bolts of lightning. Kirby made quick work of the monster, a flurry of intense shocks destabilizing the creature's form and sending its body into the earth. Once the danger had passed they dropped the ability, grinning triumphantly. 

Magolor breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness that's over with." It was short lived, however, as an enormous shadow fell over him once more. He turned, only to have a massive finger jammed roughly into his chest. 

"You! You ruined my monsta again! You're on Kirby's team!" Dedede was yelling so loudly that Magolor flinched away. The finger followed, undeterred. 

Magolor raised his paws in a placating gesture. "I'm with you! Honest! That was just a...freak tiny storm! They're called sunshowers!" 

"You're lyin'!" 

"No, really! That thing you saw? That was ball lightning! It's really rare and only a few people see it ever in their whole lives! You're really lucky, your Highness!" 

Dedede squinted. Then he threw his head back in laughter and placed his paws on his hips. "Well, of course I'm lucky! I'm the king! I get to see all the cool weather thingamajigs!" 

"You're so lucky, sire! I'm jealous!" A little extra ham never hurt anyone, and Dedede couldn't tell the difference. He boasted to Escargoon all the way back to the car about the amazing weather phenomena he had supposedly seen. Kirby had gone right back to hunting for snacks, and Meta Knight had, predictably, disappeared as soon as he wasn't being observed. Cappies who had interrupted their meals to watch the fight were now slowly filtering outside again. Things had returned to normal almost immediately, as if they were used to this. Magolor decided it was time for him to go back up to his ship. 

An exhausted, now dry Magolor flopped onto a bed in the ship's quarters. His eyes began to drift shut almost immediately, wondering idly to himself how many months he'd have to keep this up.


End file.
